Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered
by Nitebreaker
Summary: They saved all creation, but can they save themselves? If they can't, who will? A Young Justice cartoon / Green Lantern Corps comics crossover, sort of. Miss Martian, Ragnar Rok, Nightwing, the Team, Doomsday, Arisia, Kilowog, the Sinestro Corps, and, oh, yes, Bertron, too. Unfortunately. Sequel to "The Gold Corps: Damel-Zahn."
1. Chapter 1

The Gold Corps: Shattered

Chapter 1: Arrivals

 _I don't own Young Justice, the Justice League, the Green Lantern Corps, etc._

 _Please read and review!_

He walked the night, and he walked alone, even as he had countless nights before.

True, other modes of transportation were available to him He could fly, but refrained from doing so. He preferred not to draw attention to himself, not without good reason.

He looked up. The dizzying, glittering lights of the city spiraled overhead. How different things had been…only a short time ago.

Even as he watched, his sharper-than-human eyes picked out three yellow suited figures flying high overhead, barely skimming the atmosphere. They moved quickly, a random pattern of zig-zags perhaps to confuse either pursuit or detection. He noted their glowing yellow costumes, and the rings upon their fingers…

And then, they were abruptly gone, as silently as they had come, back into the night sky from whence they'd come.

His gaze lingered on the spot where they'd disappeared for a long time.

….

Onboard the Watchtower: _"…detected the energy signature associated with yellow power rings in your sector, Lantern Jordan. Specifics are lacking, but there seems to be more than one. You might wish to be on your guard."_ Ganthet's holographic image sprang from Hal Jordan's power ring. John Stewart was looking over his shoulder, hearing the exchange.

"Yes, sir, we definitely will. And it might be a good idea to alert other teams, too; Sinestro's seldom picky about who he, uh, picks on."

" _Indeed. Oh, and one more thing: Lantern Gardner will be rejoining you shortly. His retraining is complete."_ Ganthet's face was relaxed, and his voice calm, but Hal could sense something just beneath the surface, something not being said. But he knew there was no point in pursuing it.

"That's good news, sir. How is he?"

" _He is well. The taint of the red ring has, of course, left its mark on him. He will need your support, though of course, given his nature, I am certain he would not request it."_

"Yeah." Both Green Lanterns smirked at the idea. Guy Gardner, asking for _help?_ When particulate matter ceased to exist, maybe. But probably not even then.

" _In any case, we leave that matter in your capable hands."_ There was a brief pause as the Guardian changed the subject. _"And what of this wielder of the golden light, this Ragnar Rok? Have you learned anything more about him?"_

"No, sir. And he's not here right now. He and Miss Martian left to go get the other Doomsday's body, the one we fought here. He said he'd hidden it away in a cave on some asteroid near the Source Wall."

" _Indeed, it would not do to leave something like that simply lying about. I trust that when he finds it, he will bring it straight to us? We are equipped to hold it securely."_

"I'm sure he will." After exchanging a few more comments, Ganthet closed the connection.

" _Are_ you sure about that, Hal?" asked John Stewart. "Ragnar didn't seem too inclined to leave the Doomsday body with anybody, before. Acts like it's his responsibility."

"We, er, may need to exercise a little friendly persuasion there, John. I, for one, don't feel comfortable with that monster, even in a comatose state, just lying around anywhere in this entire quadrant, let alone here on Earth. And the Guardians are certainly more capable than _we_ are of keeping it secure. After all, that's their job." And then, he thought, if these New Gods should make an issue of it, let them duke it out with the Guardians. Just not here on Earth. Maybe that was selfish of him…

"Hal? Is it just me, or do the Guardians seem inordinately concerned about Ragnar's golden ring? I mean, it's just another power ring, right? We don't know what emotion it's connected with, but I'm sure that'll get sorted out. So why the fuss?"

"I…don't know, John. Yeah, I kinda got the impression, too, that they're overly troubled by it, but as to why, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it's just that it's the only one? But no, Larfleeze's ring is the only orange ring, so that doesn't figure… of course, the white ring is a different matter altogether…and they don't seem all that concerned about _it_. I don't know. Maybe in due time, we will. Meantime," he smirked again, "let's go get ready for Gardner."

But even as he said it, he couldn't help but wonder. What wasn't common knowledge among non-ring wielders was that the power rings they used actually _amplified_ their corresponding emotion. Thus, the yellow rings not only fed off fear, but increased the user's ability to feel fear. The Star Sapphire's rings were not only strengthened by love, but enabled the user to feel greater love, to a greater degree. And the red rings of rage, fueled by anger, increased the anger already within the wielder of the ring. Guy Gardner had been exposed to two different kinds of rings: one, the green of willpower, which had the side effect of enhancing his own willpower through continuous exercise of it, and the red of rage. That combination made him a formidable foe.

So what emotion, what factor, could Ragnar's gold ring be associated with? What emotion was it, even now, amplifying within him?

…..

Mt. Justice: Wonder Girl found Nightwing crouched over his console, still doggedly going over what little information they had regarding the—possible- death of Batman. J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, had tasked him with the seemingly impossible task of determining whether or not Bruce Wayne—aka Batman—was actually dead. True, they'd all seen the body, even buried the body, but some recent events had led them to believe that the body they'd buried hadn't been the Batman. "Found out anything?" Cassie Sandsmark knew it was probably useless to ask that; even if he had, she doubted he'd share it with anyone outside of J'onn. Still, a girl could hope.

Head shake. "Nope. I'm running around in circles, Cassie. I've gone over the genetic tests—they test out—" Cassie Sandsmark was one of the very few superheroes who knew Batman's civilian identity—"so that would seem to be conclusive. But…"

"Don't tell me, let me guess: you've a hunch, right?"

"Exactly. I just can't shake the notion that the whole thing's a setup."

"But it makes no sense. Bru-, I mean, Batman couldn't have _known_ he was gonna get zapped by Darkseid's Omega beams; how could he possibly have prepared for that? How could anyone?"

Dick sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Cass, I'm exploring the possibility that Batman _isn't_ the one who planned all this. I mean, yeah, he could've had plans in place to 'retire,' someday—but, if he's alive, he almost certainly didn't do all this by himself. It's like a suicide getting rid of his own body. How?" A pause. "And, if that's true—and, to be honest, it sounds like somebody's paranoid fantasy, actually, or the plot of a cheap suspense movie—then that means he didn't necessarily make _himself_ disappear _._ Maybe he had help. Or maybe I should put quotes around that: 'help.' After all, we know Darkseid's Omega beams can also transport people, as well as disintegrating them. And the genetic evidence would be child's play for someone like him to fake."

Her eyes widened. "You think Darkseid might've _kidnapped_ him?"

He shrugged. "It's a possibility. I hope I'm wrong, but…thing is, if I am, then the only other conclusion is that he's dead. Rock, meet hard place." He sighed. "If he's a prisoner of Darkseid….Cassie, I hope God will forgive me, but I would almost rather he be dead than that."

Cassie nodded. "I hear ya. So which one are you leaning towards?"

He shook his head tiredly. Sometimes she wondered how he did it. The sheer amount of mental effort would've been off-putting to almost anyone else.

Anyone but Batman.

Then he surprised her. "Any word from our two love birds?" Meaning Ragnar Rok, the Gold Lantern, and M'gann M'orzz, aka Miss Martian.

"No." She smiled. "Last I heard, they were nearly at the Source Wall. Ragnar said he'd hidden the Doomsday body in some asteroid there. Megan didn't say much, just that they should be back anytime." A bit of a dirty smile. "Of course, I suppose no one could blame them if they took just a _little_ longer. Took the scenic route, if you know what I mean." _Wink, wink._

Richard Grayson grinned. Megan Morse, as she was known on Earth, was pretty much socially enculturated for the present age, even if she had "learned" about Earthly ways from watching an old TV sitcom. But he could only imagine the confusion that the total innocent that was Ragnar Rok must be undergoing. Not that he doubted for one moment that Megan wouldn't make an outstanding teacher…"Well, I hope they don't dally too long. Normally, I wouldn't care, but anything involving that monster just makes me nervous. Which reminds me: what about _our_ Doomsday? How's he holding up?" Referring to the heroic Doomsday from an alternate timeline, who'd joined their group, unofficially, after their last adventure.

"Bored stiff. He's already played all the chess he can stand, he says, plus every video game we've got, watched every episode of _Game of Thrones_ so often he can recite the dialogue by memory, and now he's taken to Yu-Gi-Oh and Pokemon card games, just to have something to do. Conner took him out the other night, after dark, of course, just to show him around a little. They started to go into a Comic-con, but…" She bit her lip.

"'But'?"

"Rose was there."

"Oh, god. She didn't cause a scene, did she?"

"Conner says he doesn't think she saw them. And it may've been to their advantage. Doomsday was so bored he wanted to attend the convention, but how on Earth could anyone possibly think that's a costume he's got on? I mean, the guy's like _nine feet tall._ That's hard to fake. So maybe it's a good thing she scared 'em off."

Nightwing thought about that for a minute, especially the part about Rose Wilson, aka Ravager, scaring off _Doomsday._ Well, he thought, with a slight smile, if anybody could do that, it would be her.

Aloud, "Okay, good deal. But let Conner know we need to be more careful. I know Doomsday's invulnerable, but we still need to keep him under wraps until we can figure out some way of, I don't know, re-introducing him—or introducing him, I should say—into society. He's a little too distinctive to just throw out there and claim it's a casual resemblance." By now, all the superheroes knew of the alternate Doomsday, and, while many were not comfortable with him, most had come to a kind of acceptance. This wasn't the monster that had terrorized worlds, but another creature altogether. And although he was very different from anyone they'd ever encountered, they were willing to accept him on a provisional basis.

Every superhero on Earth knew what it was to be the outsider, the pariah, in the world of humans.

Right now, Doomsday was in the downstairs area, one they kept specifically for those individuals or for those meetings that should be kept away from the public eye. He was seated on the floor in front of the giant screen TV set, hunched forward in his cross-legged position, clicking away with the tiny-looking remote control in his hand.

" _This just in: the Justice League has pledged a combined total of one billion dollars to famine relief in Central Africa…_

" _Come on, darling, you know you want it as much as I do…._

" _Now we add a little oregano to the mix…._

" _Badges, senior? We don't need no steeeenking 'badges'!_

" _Protesters marched today to protest the anniversary of their protest at the protest…_

" _It's gonna be legen—wait for it—dary…_

" _Bazinga!_

Finally, the monster clicked off the TV in what approached disgust. It was all the same old stuff, all the time. Even the sports channels…and there were so many _commercials_! Well, he guessed they had to eat, too.

But he was still so bored he could chew nails. Of course, with him, that was doable, but he saw nothing to be gained by doing so.

How did these people _stand_ it?

…..

"Hey, Guy. Welcome back." Both Hal and John were at the receiving area to greet Gardner when he arrived.

Guy Gardner glanced at them with his customary sneer. "Yeah, I just bet. You two've been havin' a high ol' time here, without me to ride herd on you. Well, all that's over with."

Hal glanced at John. "Really?"

"Yeah, _really._ " Gardner said the last word in a mocking sort of way. "You don't really think the Guardians sent me back here just to kick up my feet an' watch TV, do ya? Oh, no. I'm to keep an eye on you two. You let Doomsday, of all creatures, get completely freakin' away-and jus' how the hell do you _lose Doomsday_ , is what I wanna know-lost this punk with the golden ring, and apparently couldn't even handle a couple of Black Lanterns without help." He stood in front of them, crossing his arms. "So I'm the 'help.' No more slacking off for you!"

"Now, hold on!" began John Stewart heatedly.

"An' I hear there's yellow lanterns in the area, and what're you two doin'? Standin' here gawking like a couple a' wusses. What, you think they're gonna politely knock on your door and _ask_ you if they can pretty please terrorize your star system?" He hefted his bag. "First thing _I'm_ doin', once I get settled in, is gettin' out there and startin' a search pattern. _I'm_ not givin' these murderers a chance ta do their thing, not on _my_ watch. And as for you…." Here his sneer became more prominent, "maybe a little less _Call o' Duty_ and more _attention_ _to_ duty, hm?" And with that, he turned his back on them both and headed down the hallway towards the dorms.

Hal and John just looked at each other. "Yep," said Hal, "same ol' Guy."

"He _has_ had his shots, hasn't he?"

"I hope so. At least he wasn't foaming at the mouth. Like last time."

…

Sinestro was becoming increasingly perturbed. It was a condition he really didn't like.

Fact: Ragnar Rok had, at one time, wielded the yellow light of fear.

Fact: He no longer did so. He now, by all reports, used a golden ring, with a golden light, origin and effect unknown.

Fact: Said ring had proved effective against Black Lanterns, even if it had had to be reinforced with the will of others. He shrugged. That was to be expected, in some cases, especially with young, inexperienced power ring users.

Fact, or perhaps _strong rumor_ would be a better term: There was rumored to be a cosmic entity associated with this golden light. A cosmic entity whose avatar was that of a little girl. No doubt, thought Sinestro, to reduce their suspicion and fear, although exactly why any cosmic entity would wish to assuage any mortal's fear was a matter he'd have to cogitate upon. Later.

The three of them hovered over the house where Tommy Walker lived. It was nighttime, and the lights of the house were off. "Remain here," he told them. "I will go find out what the child knows. Let no one see you, but see to it that we are not disturbed. Understood?"

"Yes, milord."

"Yes, master."

Tommy Walker was sleeping fitfully when a soft yellow radiance entered his room. Awakening, he stared at the tall, red skinned man with the moustache. At first, he'd thought it was his friend, the man with the gold ring, but this person was not him. "Who-who're you?"

Sinestro half-knelt in front of the child. "A friend. I need to ask you some questions. Just some questions, and then I'll be gone. Will that be alright?" Although Tommy felt afraid of the red-skinned man, he seemed okay. Sorta.

"O-okay. I, I guess that's okay. Wh-what do you want to know?"

Sinestro smiled. Yes, this one felt fear, and just enough so that he would be unlikely to lie, and such as would assist in his memory, but not enough to cripple him for questioning. Even without the power of his ring, Thaal Sinestro was a maestro at controlling and using people's fear levels. Too little and they got foolish. Too much, and they became gibbering idiots. Just enough, especially coupled with a hint of calm reassurance… "A short while ago, you encountered a young man who used a golden power ring, did you not?

"Y-yes…"

"What, exactly, did he do?"

Tommy thought. He'd thought a lot about the strange man with the golden ring in the time that had passed. "I…He…Something happened to me. My, my mom…" And here he started crying, softly, "She…she died. No, she was killed. But, it did something to me. It…put me away, somehow. I don't know how else to explain it. And he…did something. There was something bad inside my head, an' it's like he…made it go away."

"I see. Did he use his ring to do this?"

"No. I mean, I don't _think_ he did. He just put his hand on my head and…." He trailed off. "Thing is….I know it sounds crazy, but it's like I can still _feel_ him in my head, somehow. Not like he's watching me or anything, but…." The child's words failed him here, as he couldn't describe the feeling himself.

"I see." And Sinestro did see. Using both his ring and his own near-supernatural senses, he could sense _something_ in Tommy Walker's mind, not another mind in itself, but something like a holograph of a person, one that held much more than a mere image. "And you've dreamed about him?"

"Yeah. I kept dreaming he went to this big wall hanging in space, a huge scary wall with all kinds of faces, monster faces, stuck in it. Only they weren't just faces. I mean…"

Sinestro put up a placating hand. There was no need to get into such a detailed description of what was obviously the Source Wall. "Were you afraid?"

"Yeah. I still am. Something about the wall….it does something, or something behind it does something. We should all leave it alone. But I dream, I dreamed he went there an'….did something. I don't know what. But something happened. Something bad."

"I see. Now, Tommy, listen very closely to what I'm about to say. Answer me as truthfully as you know how; it's very important.

"Did anything come out of the Wall?"

Tommy sniffled. Memories of his mother were still fresh on his mind, though now he could deal with them better. "No. Not like…not like you or me. But _something happened._ Nothing came out but….you know how, when you throw rocks in water, it makes ripples? Well, it's like that. Something _happened._ " He shrugged. "I don't know any other way of putting that."

"That's alright, Tommy." Sinestro rose to his feet. "You've been very helpful. I'll be going now."

"Are you a friend of his?"

Sinestro smiled ever so slightly. "You could say that." _It just wouldn't be true._ "We….used to work together." He turned to go.

"The ring's the key."

Sinestro stopped in mid-launch. Looked back at the little boy on the bed. "What? What did you say?"

"The ring. His ring. It has to stay on his finger. It's the key."

"The key to what, Tommy?"

"Pain."

 _To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2: Experiments

The Gold Corps: Shattered: Chapter 2: Experiments

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!_

Experiments

Berton felt highly pleased with himself. His theta-bomb had worked perfectly, rendering both the Gold Lantern and the Martian girl unconscious. They were even now in one of his laboratories, being held in stasis, still unconscious.

The boy was proving to be a marvel of genetic engineering. In his own way, he was a kind of "Ultimate" all by himself. Bertron shook his head again in pity. The boy's parents had demonstrated so much potential…and they'd passed it on to their son.

He healed amazingly fast, and no disease organism seemed capable of establishing a toehold in his system. His genetic code appeared to be completely self-correcting: while he was not yet fully mature, once he was, he should not age appreciably, at least not for a very long time.

They'd even, somehow, managed to gift him with a self-healing central nervous system. On most humanoids throughout the galaxy, damage to the brain or spine was permanent. Not so with the youth; his nerve tissue healed with almost supernatural ease and speed.

The girl now….

Bertron was, of course, familiar with the Martian species, both white and green. This one had been masquerading and identifying as a green Martian for many decades now, so much so that the "masquerade" had become the reality. Like a reflex, like bending a tree limb and holding it in that position for a prolonged length of time, this was her "new" norm.

But he wondered. He knew the Martian physique was amazingly pliable, a feat for which they were famed throughout the stars. He wondered just how malleable she was, how much damage she could take before discorporation. Perhaps it was time to find out. But first….

There was no reason to waste a resource. Using a laser scalpel, he severed the unconscious Gold Lantern's finger from his hand, as the ring stubbornly refused to come off. It really didn't matter much; even as he watched, the finger began to regrow (and he wondered: would the severed finger he was holding regrow an entirely new person, given time? But it didn't seem to be happening…) Although he didn't really feel the need for it, still, it couldn't be denied that he was frankly curious as to how it worked. So he slipped the finger with its ring still on it into a plastic bag, put it into a pocket and sealed it shut.

Strange. Carrying it felt…odd, somehow. It made him feel odd, and in a way he couldn't quite identify.

Now. As to the "Ultimate." His scanners moved over the comatose body. Hm. No sign of physical injury, of course; that would have corrected itself anyway, almost immediately. So the damage must be mental. His scanners reconfigured themselves at his mental command and began searching for signs of mental damage….

…..

"They're a little overdue, sir," Nightwing was telling J'onn J'onzz via link to the Watchtower, "I was wondering if you'd heard anything."

"No, I have not. But I understand your concern. My niece is usually very prompt when it comes to time schedules. Even when," and here, Dick could swear he saw just the barest hint of a smile lurking around the corners of the Martian Manhunter's mouth, "even when a…young man is involved." The smile faded. "But there is a much graver concern: they went to get the body of the comatose Doomsday. It might not have been comatose by the time they got there."

That had been Nightwing's private gnawing fear all along. Ever since they dropped out of contact…"Do you think we should investigate?"

"I will send Hal and John to do so. There is probably nothing to worry about, but, as the Earth saying goes, 'better safe than sorry.'"

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

…..

The Source Wall: Hal and John Stewart, accompanied by an impatient Guy Gardner, searched for any sign of the two members of the Team. "Don't see why _I_ hadda come all the way out here. We ain't chaperones. And those yellow lanterns won't catch themselves, you know."

"You're here because the Guardians _told_ you to accompany us out here. Three heads are better than two." _Even if one of them_ _is_ _yours._ "And if the Sinestro Corps members act up, they'll have the League to deal with. So quit griping and scan."

He glowered at Hal. "The day I need you to tell me how to do this job is the day I hang it up." But he began scanning nearby space for any signs of the Team members.

"Hal?" John Stewart broke in, speaking low so Gardner couldn't hear, "How do we know we're even in the right area? I mean, this thing is _huge…_ " He nodded at the vast expanse of the Source Wall behind them.

"Yeah, but this is the area where the Team found Ragnar trying to repair the damages in the Wall. It stands to reason that he must've stashed the Doomsday body somewhere nearby. Check out any sizable asteroids."

….

Oa: Ganthet was communicating telepathically with Llianna. {{Have you run those figures?}}

{{I have. The results have been stable for three hundred seventy eight times now.}}

Ganthet sighed. {{So there is no possibility of a mistake?}}

{{None. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, that the probability of error is so slight as to render it insignificant.}}

 _That's what I was afraid of,_ thought Ganthet.

….

Bertron was smiling.

He'd caught himself smiling quite a lot lately. Well, he had reason to smile, to be happy. He'd retrieved the Ultimate, captured the son, and apparently favorite test subject, of his two top geneticists (and who was proving to be a treasure-trove of biological data; the genetic equivalent of being visited by Santa Claus), and he had an unexpected bonus: the Martian girl. Martians were renowned throughout the cosmos for their biological plasticity, not to mention their mental powers. She was probably the mate to the son of his two geneticists, but he could find no evidence of any sort of reproduction as having taken place. Perhaps it had happened sufficiently long ago that the offspring were mature enough to be on their own? But he didn't know how old that would have to be. There just wasn't any data. But he could now correct that. Of course he could.

The thought made him giggle, slightly. Yes. More data. Always more data.

….

"….have to tell you, J'onn, it's not good news. We found M'gann's bioship…but no M'gann or Ragnar. It was just floating off some large asteroid. And, no, we didn't find the Doomsday body. Worse, we're picking up some residual energies. Looks like somebody exploded a theta bomb in the vicinity."

J'onn J'onzz frowned. "A theta bomb? You're sure?" That would effectively knock out any intelligent being in the area so affected. "And there's no clues in her ship?"

"None. We've gone over it with a fine-tooth comb, and can't find anything. The last log posting had them about to go EVA. Then, nothing. Evidently they just got here, got out of the ship, and boom. Basically."

"Hm. So we have to assume the worst. Alert the Guardians, and I'll alert the League. And," he added, as an afterthought, "The Team."

…

"They're _missing?"_ Nightwing's voice was full of alarm. "And the Doomsday body…gone, too?"

"Apparently. We are, of course instigating a full alert, and the Green Lantern Corps has been notified, so they're already on the case. But we have to assume the worst: that they are either captured and somehow neutralized, or dead. We will keep you apprised of any new events, of course."

Both Nightwing and Wonder Girl's face showed only horror.

…..

Miss Martian gradually came to awareness. What had happened? She and Ragnar had been about to retrieve the Doomsday body….

Ragnar! Where was he?

Consciousness swam into her head. She couldn't move, could barely think, even. But she saw her surroundings: a gleaming silvery laboratory of some sort. Standing over her was a small, odd looking creature with gray wrinkled skin and large eyes. There was something about those eyes that made Megan decidedly nervous, maybe a certain sheen to them…

"Ah, good. You are awake. I have only one question to ask you. Do you have any offspring?"

"W-what?"

"I said, 'do you have any offspring?' Children. Descendents. You are of age. So. Do you?"

That was an awfully personal question coming from some thing she'd just met. "N-no, I don't. Who-who are you, and, and where am I?" But the creature had turned back to his instruments, and she felt consciousness fading…

….

Mt. Justice: Nightwing had summoned the Team, Doomsday included, for an emergency meeting to share what they'd found out. "And, as of right now, that's all we know. So everybody be ready. I know this cosmic stuff is mostly out of our league, but in the past, we've found ourselves in the midst of it anyway." He addressed the empty air over the meeting table. "I don't suppose you'd have anything to add to this, would you, Sarah?" Referring to the cosmic entity that seemed connected, somehow, with Ragnar's golden ring.

Nothing. "Well, it was worth a shot. Anyway, everybody stay loose. I _hope_ Ragnar and Megan will be in need of rescue, and soon, but….everybody on standby. Got it?" Murmurs of assent went around the table.

Doomsday signaled for attention. "Nightwing? Is there, uh, any chance you could persuade the Green Lanterns to take me out there where they were last seen, is there?"

"I could ask. But why?"

"I seem to have some kinda connection with Ragnar. Like I can sense him from a distance. Plus, if somebody absconded with that other body, chances are it's no longer comatose. You may need me to fight _it._ "

"I'll certainly pose it to the League. Who the Guardians send is, of course, up to them, but we can choose our own rescue team." And, he thought, this would be perfect for Doomsday, who'd been chafing here at Mt. Justice for so long. Here, or practically any world, he'd be altogether too well known, but out there…and he was probably right about both having a connection to Ragnar and being needed to fight a revived Doomsday 1.

But who could've gotten the drop on both Megan and Ragnar? And why?

…..

Bertron went over his figures for about the thousandth time. For some reason, he distrusted them, and that distrust seemed to be making him afraid, somehow. A coldly logical being, he'd never really felt true fear before, but he was beginning to understand it better, and on a more personal level, than he liked.

What did he have to be afraid of, anyway? His base was well-shielded, his captives secured, and still unconscious. Even the Ultimate was locked down so tightly he couldn't even wiggle, let alone get the leverage he'd need to break free from his restraints.

There were endless experiments he could perform on the male, of course. He'd already ascertained that no biological agent had any effect on the boy, and most overtly physical damage was only temporary. But it was interesting: it almost seemed like the youth's healing factor was _evolving_ , developing in some way that was totally contradictory to the laws of biology as he knew them. Had his former partners discovered some new paradigms?

He'd thought, at first, that the anomalous responses he'd been getting stemmed from the golden ring the blue-skinned boy had worn, but that could not be. That same ring, still on the severed finger, currently resided in Bertron's sealed pocket. Absently, he patted it, filled with a vague unease; he still didn't know exactly what it did or how. He'd tried, a few times, to create light-constructs with it, with varying degrees of success, but still, something seemed to be lacking. There was some principle at work he wasn't seeing.

By contrast, the Martian girl was almost a joy to work with, and he ran countless tests on her, trying to see how that marvelous Martian plasticity seemed to work. Evidently, the Martian genome had something in common with highly advanced "memory molecules," except these were controlled by conscious thought. It was truly remarkable that evolution had produced not just a living being, but an _intelligent_ living being based upon that principle.

But he was reaching the limit as to what he could do with her in her current insensible state. The thought occurred to him to awaken her, and place her in a chamber with the Ultimate, just to see how long she'd last. But then he shook his head; no, that would be too crude, far too crude. He did not dare waste this rare opportunity; he might never again get a Martian to experiment upon. And besides, it wasn't as if he didn't know the outcome of such already. Even if it might be fun to watch.

Fun?

Bertron stopped walking down the hallway, and brought himself up short. Fun? Since when did he think about such things, anyway? Notions of _fun_ were for lesser evolved organisms; he was a scientist. There was no place in science for _fun._ So where had that thought come from?

Well, it ultimately didn't matter. What mattered was, he had to think up some sort of useful experiment to perform upon the Martian female. Not just a mere test to destruction; he already had a good idea what her limits were in that regard. But a truly _useful_ experiment, one that would yield more valuable information.

Experiment…

Experimental…

Mental…

Perhaps the purely physical was not the way to go. The thought made him laugh, even as he wondered why he was laughing, and at what.

 _To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3: Unsanity

_Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps, Chapter 3: Unsanity_

 _Unsanity_

" _Yes, Lantern Jordan, we agree completely. The retrieval of the Doomsday body takes precedence over all other matters, considering the damage a revived Doomsday could cause. Have you any indication of a trail? Any ion trail, or spatial disturbance that might be indicative of an enemy ship?"_ The three of them were floating in space, their holographic images "standing" in the Guardians' meeting chamber, even as the Guardians' images floated before them.

"We've a very faint trail, leading off towards the Pegasus cluster. We'd like to follow it."

" _Do so. And we will send Lanterns Arisia and Kilowog to assist you in this matter. It is imperative that the Doomsday body be found. And, yes, your other colleagues, as well."_

"Masters, something else. You remember the Doomsday from an alternate timeline? He's still back on Earth. If _this_ Doomsday has in fact been reawakened…."

" _He could prove invaluable, yes, I see your point. Very well. Lantern Gardner!"_ Guy looked up upon hearing his name. _"You and Lantern Stewart will return to sector 2814. You are to remain there, as our representative during this crisis, and Lantern Stewart will escort this other Doomsday to your current position. You,"_ Ganthet paused, addressing Hal, _"Lantern Jordan, are to await the arrival of reinforcements before beginning your search. If necessary, we will send other corps members to assist you, but sector 2814 must not be without a Green Lantern, especially with evidence of Sinestro Corps activity there. Once you've assembled, then proceed with your search. Understood?"_

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

" _Yeah._ I get'cha. I'll handle those yellow bastards _myself._ "

" _Do not get overconfident, Lantern Gardner. It is quite possible Sinestro himself may be among the group present in Sol's system, and he is not to be taken lightly. You have your orders."_

…..

Earth: Doomsday, hiding in the alley, looked one way, then the other. Aside from the usual seething crowds, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

He'd been just _itching_ to go to the Comic-con, only Superboy had nixed it, saying there was someone there who was trouble. Doomsday didn't know what he meant by that; some supervillain, maybe? At a Comic-con? Whoever it was, he'd made it sound like it was some major league heavy hitter, so Doomsday was being cautious. But either way, this convention looked to be about the _only_ place on the entire planet where he had a chance to pass as anything remotely resembling "ordinary."

He'd prepared a cover story: he was actually a normal, albeit technologically gifted, human being wearing an exoskeleton he'd built in his home workshop. No, he couldn't open the face plate; no, he was going to patent it, so he couldn't show anyone how it worked. If matters came to a head, he'd just have to leave, claiming he needed to use the restroom, and would have to partially disassemble his "exo-suit" to do so. It wasn't perfect, and he knew he'd probably get "talked to," when he got back, but if he had to put up with one more round of "Divorce Court," he felt he'd go postal.

The receptionist looked up, up, and even more up to meet his gaze. "Uh, how many, sir?"

"Just me." Getting his name tag (and how was he gonna stick it on, anyway? His hide was like a frictionless surface), he moved into the interior of the building.

All the people! And all the costumes! Doomsday felt like his nonexistent heart was about to overflow and burst with wonder. Some—most—of the costumes he didn't recognize. There were several young women there in black mini-skirt type outfits carrying makeshift scythes—he wondered what _that_ was from. And some who seemed to have stenciled in what looked like stitch-marks across their faces and hands, and even across their clothes. Those usually had a large, fake screw affixed to the sides of their heads. Who could they be? He couldn't wait to find out.

And of course, there just as there were a bewildering variety of costumes he didn't recognize, so, too, there were some he did: several women were dressed as Wonder Woman, and there were more than a few young men dressed as either Batman or Superman.

Superman. There was that name, again. He was still getting used to it. Evidently, in _this_ universe, the planet Krypton had gone on to produce some sort of intelligent humanoid life, who'd then later instigated some sort of catastrophic disaster that had caused the whole planet to explode. The only surviving member of their race (at least, initially; as time went on, it seemed others had managed to survive, too) had been evac'd to Earth, where he'd been raised as a human, and become the human race's greatest hero. And then he, or, rather, that _other_ version of him, had come along and killed him. So that explained their fear of him.

But surely by now they saw he wasn't a monster like that. Yeah, a monster, so okay, yeah. But not like that! Still, he guessed he could see the point. That other Doomsday had killed a lot of people. Even if the entire human race knew he wasn't the same monster, they'd still be perfectly capable of hating his guts, just by association alone. And could he really blame them?

But he just _had_ to get out _some._ He was goin' stir-crazy back in the basement at Mt. Justice.

He knew that a lot of the cosplayers were professionals, and their workmanship showed it. And then there were some who simply enjoyed dressing up, with varying degrees of excellence.

Doomsday found himself strutting, just a little. _His_ costume was _superb._

"Wow," said a voice behind him, "That…is one HELL of a costume." Doomsday turned. Behind him was a slender young female with snow-white hair, wearing a form-fitting blue and tan outfit resembling a kind of scaled body armor, with two _katana_ -like swords in locking scabbards across her back. She was wearing an eyepatch over her left eye, arms crossed across her chest, and gazing up at him amusedly. He noticed she had a "security" tag affixed over her left breast.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Took me a long time to make it, y'know." He moved back just a bit. She was a little close.

But now she moved in even closer, and in the press of the room, it was impossible to move farther away. She suddenly reached out and fingered his chest spikes, and he saw her eye widen. _Uh oh._

"Whoa," she said, almost to herself, "that shit's _real._ " As fast as a striking snake, she sprang back and snatched one of the swords from behind her back, holding it in front of her face with what was clearly practiced familiarity. "Keep calm, everyone," she said, to the other convention goers, "Keep calm and move back!"

He held up his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. "Look, I'm not here to fight."

"Yeah? It'd be the first time." She was fumbling with something on her belt. _Yep,_ he thought, _I'm definitely in for it now._

"Look," he said, with resolve, "you wanna fight me, you're gonna haveta do it over there," and he motioned towards of the hallways, one less crowded that the main one, "'Cause that's where I'm gonna be." And with that, he turned and strode off towards the hallway in question, hoping she wouldn't follow.

No such luck. She followed him out into the deserted hallway, now having drawn both swords. "Who are you?" she hissed, " _What_ are you? Some kinda mental organism, you've taken control of Doomsday's body? 'Cos I swear, if you've come here to harm-*"

"Nobody's controlling me but me. Yeah, I'm Doomsday. But I think it oughtta be clear by now I'm not the Doomsday you're thinking of. I'm from a different timeline. I got stranded over here…it's a long story."

"Riiiiigghhhtt." She still clearly didn't believe him, and kept tracking his movements, her head moving side to side, gauging depth with her one eye. "And I'm Little Bo Peep. This is just a disguise I use to find my lost sheep."

"Alright," he said, exasperated with the stubborn human, "Suppose _you_ tell _me_ who and what you think I am."

"Dunno." Still tracking him, back and forth, back and forth. "Even the stupidest shapeshifter in the world, even little Miss 'Hello, Megan!', would know better than to shift into _you._ That's like disguising yourself as Adolf Hitler…"

"Hey! Leave M'gann outta this! She's my friend!"

The girl gaped at him. "You _know_ M'gann _?_ " She lowered the swords, but didn't sheath them.

"Of course I know her! And by the way, just who the heck are _you?_ "

Perhaps, just perhaps, in light of the trouble this human female seemed intent on causing him, Doomsday could be perhaps forgiven for thinking of a term that rhymed with "itch."

It was _not_ "witch."

…

Nightwing was finishing up some reports when someone signaled from the outside. Now who could that be?

The number of people who actually knew of the Team's existence was quite rare, and the number who knew how to contact someone on the inside of Mt. Justice—or even that there was anybody to contact—was even smaller. And there was no record of anybody currently in residence needing entry…

He pulled up the screen. Whoever was calling already knew the proper identification codes anyway, just to be able to use the intercom. To anyone else it would look—and act-like a rusted-out piece of junk somebody had forgotten about. "Yes? Who is it?" Then his stomach clenched when he saw who was standing in front of the external camera.

" _I'm Little Bo Peep. But I think I've found one of_ _your_ _lost sheep."_ Rose Wilson gestured to the silent giant behind her.

" _I am so_ _not_ _a sheep!"_

" _Quiet, you. So open, up, 'Wing, or I'll huff and I'll puff an' I'll blow your mountain down."_

Dick Grayson groaned and leaned his head against his hands. He could figure out what had happened at a glance.

Why, oh _why,_ did it just _have_ to be Rose?

…

Ragnar gradually came to consciousness, fighting his way past whatever force it was keeping him under. He could feel, from the tingling sensation in his body, that his nervous system was evolving to overcome that force, whatever it was. But what had happened?

The last thing he remembered: he and Megan had gone to the Source Wall to retrieve the comatose body of the Doomsday they'd fought. He'd gone out of her bioship…and then nothing.

Even though his reasoning faculties were not fully online yet, he deduced they must have been waylaid in some way. But by who? Doomsday? He didn't think so, didn't recall any memory like that. Besides, if that Doomsday had overpowered them, he doubted he'd be waking up.

Megan! He had to wake up! She was in danger!

His fear for her lent his body additional strength, and he could feel his head clearing. Odd; he couldn't feel his ring on his finger, but first things first. Megan was more important.

…..

"I was working security at the 'Con, when Tall, Gray, and Gruesome here walks in," said Rose. "He was obvious as all hell. Whaddaya mean lettin' him run around like that? He could'a caused a city-wide panic or somethin'. Hell, a _planet_ wide panic."

Nightwing sighed. Rose always managed to get on his nerves, somehow. Actually, she got on _everybody's_ nerves. "In the first place, we didn't know he was gone, to be honest…."

"And second," spoke up Doomsday, from the other side of the room, "I'm a grown boy now. I can cross the street without anybody holding my hand. And I wasn't doing anything. So what's yer problem?"

"My _problem, asshat,_ is what if you'd caused a panic? People still remember that _other_ Doomsday. There coulda been people rushing for exits, getting trampled, even gunfire."

He crossed his massive arms across his chest. "And were there?"

"N—no, but…-*"

"So YOU coulda caused the very panic you're accusing me of? Pot, meet kettle."

"Look! I don't give a howl in hell if you wanna go to the park or the beach, but the Con is MY RESPONSIBILITY! So keep your monsters to yourselves, is all I'm saying," she said, poking Doomsday in the chest. She turned her head sideways to look at Dick. " _Some_ of us haveta actually _work_ for a living, y'know."

Nightwing made what he hoped was a soothing gesture. No point in starting World War Rose all over again. Last time had been bad enough. "Look, Rose, it won't happen again, okay? _Will_ it?" And here he tilted his head at Doomsday.

"Gods, no, not if she's gonna be there. I'd sooner be tortured to death. Or watch a 'Two and a Half Men' marathon. Same thing."

"It's a perfectly nice Con! We just don't need any trouble!"

"So they hired _you?_ You're trouble personified."

She tilted up her head. "I get the job done!"

"Yeah, if the job is running everybody off. With an attitude like that, you'd scare Trigon himself away." He paused while she seethed. This was actually kinda fun. "Besides. Was there any _legal_ reason why I shouldn't have been at the 'Con?"

Silence, while she tried to come up with something. Technically, there wasn't actually any law that said Doomsday—or any other monster-couldn't attend the 'Con. Nobody had ever felt the need for one.

"So what you're _really_ saying is, you just don't want _anybody like me_ there. Isn't that closer to the truth? Cheese Louise. Plants probably wilt when you walk past."

" _One more word,_ I swear, _one more word_ , an' I'll _castrate_ ya!"

"Bring it on, witch. I'll break your sword with my sword."

"QUIET!" Nightwing shouted. They both fell silent, looking at him. "Look, Rose. _It's over._ Get it? And Doomsday: this is _precisely_ the reason we were keeping you under wraps.

"Now. We need to move on, and I need to summon the Team. There've been some developments with regards to Ragnar and Megan, and they aren't good."

"Wait," said Rose. "First off, who's Ragnar? And what's wrong with Little Miss Goody Two Shoes _this_ time? She hit the wrong person with a pie? Again?"

Nightwing signaled the others to come to the meeting. "Even though it's _none of your business,_ Rose, Ragnar Rok is our newest member. He's a power ring user, uses a gold ring. He and Megan have become an item, and now they're missing."

"An item? Oh, wow….that is…." Rose trailed off, an expression of mirth coming over her face. She hurriedly hid her mouth in her hand; too late. "And, and _M'gann?_ She…she's actually got a _boyfriend?_ Oh, that's _priceless!_ The poor guy! He must be fifty shades of desperate!" And she started laughing, holding her sides.

Doomsday looked at Nightwing. "Can I please retcon punch her now?"

…

Hal, Arisia and Kilowog were scouring an area measured in light-years. Fortunately for them, they had light to work with.

"I'm getting a faint trace over here," announced Arisia, her voice coming in clear, in real time, even though she was a good ten lightyears away, "Kilowog? It seems to be heading in your general direction."

"I'm not gettin' anything more'n the usual background static, Arisia. Hal? Did it change course?"

"It must have." Hal was less than five lightyears closer to galactic north, northwest. "I'm getting some anomalous readings here, but I can't swear it's what we're looking for. _Damn_ it! If only we could track Ragnar's ring, we'd have found them both by now!"

As if on cue, John Stewart materialized with Doomsday in tow. The others gathered around the newly arrived pair. "'Bout time," grumped the monster. "I was about to haveta slug the single most _irritating_ female in the _entire_ history of the universe."

"Oh?" muttered Hal. "How _is_ Rose, these days, anyway?"

"How'd you-?"

"Er, lucky guess. Anyway, here you are. Can you sense Ragnar, anywhere in the area?"

"Lemme see." The giant spread out his hands in the general direction they were looking, panning from left to right, then back again. "Feels like….something…in this direction. But how far, that I can't tell you."

"It's a start. Let's go!"

…

Happy Harbour Mall: Stacey McAllister was about to decide men were just no damn good.

This was the _third_ time she'd broken up with Jake, and, as far as she was concerned, the last. No matter how much he begged.

She sat there, behind her counter in the "Victoria's Secret" shop where Ragnar had once taken refuge, in order to escape a most persistent saleslady outside. She sighed. Yes, men were definitely jerks. And, worse, the jerks always seemed to zero in on _her._

It was no mystery why. Not only was she young and pretty, but she actually had a decent job. Quite a few boys were attracted to the notion of a "cash cow" they could milk at their leisure, then go back to playing their stupid Xbox or something. And she always seemed to fall for it.

Well, she was tired of being used like that.

Surely, surely there was somebody else out there for her. There had to be. Somebody steadier, more mature. But then she sighed again, chin cupped in the palm of her hand. Men were like parking spaces: all the good ones were already taken. And that was a depressing conclusion for her to draw, here at the ripe old age of eighteen.

There just had to be somebody. But how to find him? Her last three boyfriends had found _her_ , saying all the right things, being oh so nice…but then things started to come apart, especially once she made it clear she wasn't about to…do certain things. Not yet, anyway.

Anybody can be "nice"…for a little while. It's how you deal with trouble that tells the tale. She was tired of "friends" who were only friends so long as it was convenient for _them_.

Social media didn't help, and was a good way to find a stalker or worse, for a stalker to find _you_. She didn't trust it. Because of her job, she was limited in the activities she could go to, and besides, she was trying to gear up to go on to college in the fall. So she didn't have time to just go out and mingle, like some girls did. She'd never been one for the nighttime scene anyway.

And her parents frequently needed her to babysit her little brother while they went out of town. Thinking about them, she shivered slightly. She'd come _that close_ to losing them altogether when that piece of shit that called himself "the Joker" had taken the whole PTO meeting hostage, with the clear intent of murdering everyone in the room. All due to his twisted idea of a "joke."

Saaaaaay. That reminded her. That new superhero, the golden guy. The one who'd saved her parents that night. He was unattached, wasn't he? Yeah, he'd said he had a "special friend" who "was a girl" (hey, at least he was into girls; these days, that wasn't a given), but he had said he didn't have a "girlfriend," as such. That's right. He'd said just that. Hm. Yes. Hm, indeed.

Of course, she hadn't seen him since that last time, and (and here she sighed, resignedly) probably wouldn't ever again, but…he'd be…he'd be kinda perfect. Wouldn't he? He already had a job, so he wouldn't be latching onto her for money…and he seemed like a really nice guy. And cute, too. Not to mention kinda exotic, with that robin's egg blue skin.

 _Okay, Stace,_ she told herself firmly, _reality check here. He's a superhero. You're a store clerk. He's out there flying over the city, saving mankind from things like the Joker or Brainiac; you're here selling see-through "sleeping apparel" to guys with sweaty palms and partial erections. And he did say he had a "special friend." "Special friend" "who's a girl." So._ _Probably_ _a girlfriend. Get your head out of the clouds. And besides, you haven't even seen any sign of him since then._ Still….a girl could dream, couldn't she?

Maybe….maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to…maybe look him up? Surely he couldn't be too hard to find. Stacey hadn't dated all that much, concentrating, as she had been, on getting accepted by and getting into a good college, but…maybe…maybe the right guy….And, and…you know, just a suggestion of lunch. That wouldn't be any big deal, would it? Just lunch.

All of a sudden, she couldn't help but chortle at herself. Listen to yourself, girl. Here you are, prepared to go _hunt down_ a _superhero_ and practically _throw_ yourself at him. Well, perhaps not _throw,_ not _throw_ as such, but….

But…

Yeah, "throw" pretty well covered it.

 _I must be desperate_ , she thought savagely to herself _, if that's the best plan I can come up with._

Still…

 _Ragnar walking back into Victoria's Secret, and approaching her directly. "I'd like to buy something for a very special young lady in my life."_

" _Certainly, sir. Would you like that gift-wrapped?"_

" _I would."_

 _Not meeting his gaze. "And whose name should I put on the card, sir?"_

 _And Ragnar looking intently at her with those deep dark eyes of his, leaning forward ever so slightly…"Stacey. Stacey McAllister."_

Chin resting on her interlaced fingers, there behind her counter, eyes seeing nothing in this world, Stacey McAllister smiled dreamily.

… _.._

" _Ff—ffaather?"_ The word was barely recognizable as such, and it emerged from the Doomsday monster's lips.

"Yes, yes!" urged Bertron, standing over by his console, "That's right! Come on, son, you can say it! Say 'father.' I'm your _father._ I created you. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't exist. So come on, say 'father' again."

" _Fffaa…ffaath…"_ The beast stumbled over the unfamiliar sound coming out of its mouth. It was used to uttering unintelligible roars of rage, but modulating those sounds into _communication_ was a brand new skill.

But Doomsday was nothing if not adaptable. It would adapt, if need be. And apparently, the need was there.

After all, it couldn't kill anybody, tied up like _this_.

…..

Several lightyears away: the Green Lanterns and Doomsday were slowly but surely closing in on what their Doomsday swore was where he was sensing Ragnar Rok. "I don't know how I know this, but I know he's somewhere in this star system." He pointed to a small, four-planet system on the edge of charted space.

"But how do we narrow it down?" Hal bit his lip. "That's still a huge area to search. And there's nothing to say whatever we're looking for is even on a planet. It might be in orbit all by itself. Or hiding in one of the gas giants' atmosphere." True to form, this system had produced two exo-planets, both larger than Jupiter, with atmospheres that could hide Earth and Mars combined.

"Let me try a hunch." Doomsday said, as they conferred on the outskirts of the system. Kilowog's ring was projecting a 3D map of the system, though not to scale, of course. "Most people, seems like, tend to put their bases on planets of some sort or another. Sort of a psychological quirk. So whoever kidnapped our friends—and that other me—is probably hiding on one of the planets. It would make sense he—or they, or, well, you know—would probably choose whichever one would be the most likely to scramble sensors, right? I mean, let your environment do as much as it can for you by itself.

"BUT…they wouldn't depend on the planet's natural camouflage. Chances are, they've enhanced, or added to, an already turbulent environment. See what I'm saying?"

John Stewart rubbed his chin. The architect within him was studying the matter intensely. "I think I see. They'd pick the most active spot—and make it worse, somehow. Add to the electromagnetic interference, or throw out strange matter chaff or something to enhance the place as a hiding spot. So…how do you propose to find them?"

"I'll go in, to the biggest, nastiest spot in the solar system. And my body will adjust, my senses will adapt to that environment. It shouldn't take all that long, an' I'll be seeing as clearly as you guys can on a summer day.

"And _then…._ then I look for an area I _can't_ see so good into. We're assuming these goons know something about me, my genetics. Maybe they don't know about me personally, but I bet they've used what knowledge they have to make their bolt-hole as impervious to my senses, not to mention all other senses, as they can. Just in case."

Kilowog shook his head. "You'd be literally zooming in ta see who takes a shot at'cha. No matter how tough you are, you can't _depend_ on that invulnerability, especially if these poozers know anything at all about you. Best case scenario: you find the hidden base. But then you've blown our cover. Worst case scenario: you get killed, have to regenerate all over again, and still alert our foes. And it _is_ possible you might get killed so completely you wouldn't come back, at least not for a long time."

"If you've a better suggestion, I'm open to it. Remember, whoever this is, they've not only got that other Doomsday body, but they've also had Ragnar Rok and Megan Morse for all this time. Gods only know what they've been doing to them. That they haven't been able to escape or even signal us…is anything but a good sign." He paused. "We actually ran outta time a while back. Now we're just playing catch-up."

"Weeelllllll," thought Hal, "I admit, we need to do something. I don't like the idea of you making a living bulls-eye of yourself, but we do need to find our people. As you say, we've no idea what's being done to them. What's _been_ done to them." Pause. "Alright. Let's go."

…..

Rose was working her security shift at the 'Con when the psychic impression slammed into her mind like a harpoon. It actually made her lean up against a wall in order to catch her breath, it was so strong. A quick glance around; no indications of trouble, just the usual cosplayers and fans….

She made her way to a private corner, and pulled out her communicator. Everyone who'd ever been affiliated with the Team had one, and although they'd parted on less-than-ideal terms, she still had the communicator "for emergencies."

If her psychic flash was correct, such an emergency was about to occur. "Nightwing? 'S me, Rose. Yeah, I know it's late, but-saaaay. Since when do you care? You're up all hours anyway. Well, never mind. Listen. I just got one of my psychic flashes. Yes. _That_ kind. This one damn near knocked me on my ass." Pause, while she listened. "That's just it; I can't be sure what it was about. You know how these things go: unless it's dealing with me personally, there's almost never any detail. But I did get one very strong impression. It's about Little Miss I-Think-A-Pie-In-Rose's-Face-Would-Be-So-Funny. Yeah, her." She stopped a moment and gathered her thoughts. "Something bad's about to happen to her. Something really bad. I mean, like, _really_ bad. Like dying bad." She drew a deep breath. What she was about to say was gonna hurt... "If you…like, need…you know, reinforcements, backup, or, or something, or just somebody to take up the slack, I can get off from here for a day or so." Pause. "'Wing? You still there? Whaddaya mean, who am I and what have I done with Rose Wilson? What's _that_ supposed to mean? Look, I don't haveta actually _like_ M'gann to not wanna see her dead. So…just letting you know."

…

Ragnar fought off the effects of the field that was keeping him under. With each passing second, that became easier to do; he could only guess that his body's own healing factor was adapting to counteract the effect.

He _had_ to get to Megan.

He automatically tried using his power ring, only to discover that it wasn't on his finger anymore.

…

Bertron was a happy scientist indeed. He grown the perfect son, and that son's training was coming along nicely. The Ultimate had been placed within a specially reinforced chamber, and been given toys to play with. True, he'd mostly torn the toys to bits, but all children did that. All told, it was a good anatomy lesson for his offspring.

Right now, the Ultimate was busy pounding on the walls of his spheroid cage, roaring inarticulately. Bertron _tsked._ He'd thought they'd made more progress in that area than they had

But maybe….maybe the Ultimate was trying to communicate with him by means of the blows. And maybe factoring in all the destruction, maybe there was some underlying meaning to what it was trying to say. Yes! That made perfect sense! Bertron knew he had enemies, jealous, no doubt of his intellect and accomplishments. Sooo….the Ultimate, having come to be aware of these jealous individuals, was trying to communicate with his father in a safer way than mere speech. Yes, yes, of course, that must be it! His son was trying to warn him about some peril he'd previously not suspected!

Bertron delegated a large portion of his base's memory systems to decoding the seemingly random patterns for violence. Then he immediately thought better of it, and switched it off; his enemies could have insinuated spy programs into his computers, even in spite of his defense programs. No, he couldn't risk them being aware that he was onto them. So he got out a pencil and paper, and started trying to figure out the pattern by hand.

Hm, thought Bertron. Violence as a means of covert communication. The thought struck him as funny, and he laughed for nearly a day at that, alone.

 _To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4: Rescue

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 4: Rescue

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps._

 _Please read and review!_

At the very edge of the star system, the Green Lanterns and Doomsday halted. "Okay, here's where I go in," said Doomsday, "I'm gonna head for that planet, there. The one with all the junk coming out of it." The planet in question was tremendous, over twice the size of Jupiter, and had a roiling, turbulent atmosphere through which lightning strobed frequently. The others watched, nervously, as the Monster of Steel angled in at a respectable fraction of the speed of light, aiming for the planet's north pole, where the magnetic field came to a point, allowing accumulated radiation to nearly touch the planet's surface before being re-routed back into space, following the lines of force. The radiation winds wrapped themselves around his body almost like a physical embrace, and he could feel the tingling sensation that always accompanied his body's adaptive evolution. Anything else would have been killed outright, fried by the hard radiation here in the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, but Doomsday was made of sterner stuff than that.

His vision began to clear, and he could see through the roiling clouds. Still, the planet was huge, and their quarry tiny, by comparison. Unless something sent up the equivalent of a signal flare, he doubted he'd spot it without some effort. He began a search pattern, spiraling outward from the pole, heading towards the equator….

One pass, two passes, three…."I'm finding a whole lotta nuthin,' guys," he reported back via comm. link. "Keep a sharp sensor out for any sort of signals to or from any particular spot. I'm hoping these guys have _something_ ta do with the outside universe. If so, they gotta have some sort of communication array."

"We've been keeping watch," reported Hal, "but without a whole lot of success. Are you sure you have the right planet?"

"No, I'm not. Not absolutely sure. But it feels right, somehow. And this is the absolute nastiest spot in the whole solar system, short of putting it inside the sun itself, which, now that I think of it, might be a possibility. If we don't turn anything up here…"

Arisia fidgeted, listening to the communication. She was acutely aware, as were they all, that Ragnar and Megan had been silent for too long. If they'd even had some indication that either of them had tried to contact help…the fact that they had had no such indication only added to her incipient ulcers. _I'm too young for gray hair._ "Maybe we should go in to help look."

Hal shook his head. "We're trying to keep our full strength here a secret, Arisia. It's inevitable that they'll spot Doomsday, but we need to keep our real numbers as much a secret as possible until it's too late—for them. I-*"

" _I just spotted something. Not sure I believe it, but…"_ Doomsday's voice came over the link.

"What's unbelievable about it?"

" _It looks like home, to me."_

Ragnar came to full consciousness, his fear for Megan driving him on.

Groggily, he got up off the cot he had been lying on, feeling his strength return. Somehow he _knew_ Megan was here, somewhere, and he would not rest until he found her.

He could sense his ring. It didn't seem to be all that far away; only a few dozen meters and up one level. He went up to the door of the room he'd awakened in.

Hm. No switch to open it. Okay, then.

He drew back his fists, and began pounding on the door, all the while feeling a curious tingling sensation running throughout his whole body. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, rather, it seemed to energize him, and he struck the door harder. Under the impact of his blows, the door began to buckle outward, first deforming slightly under the repeated blows, then beginning to crumble. It must not have been as strong as it looked. He could hear an alarm sounding; well, let them. He'd go up against anything to rescue his love.

Outside: the Green Lanterns had joined Doomsday outside the strange spheroid structure he'd found. "You say you _recognize_ this place, Doomsday?"

The monster shook his head. "Not this particular place, but…I was created and grown in a laboratory by a scientist named Bertran. She had a similar set-up, but that was in my universe…"

"Wait. _She?_ The scientist who created you was female?"

"Yeah. She taught me everything she knew, well, you know, not everything, but a lot. I guess you could say she was the closest thing I had to a mother." He hesitated. Then, "Then one day I come home, and the place is destroyed. Space pirates, I've always assumed. No trace of her in the wreckage." Pause. "And this place looks just like it. In fact…if I'm not totally mistaken," he moved to one side of the seemingly featureless sphere, hunting for something, "the way in is… _right here._ " He depressed a series of almost-invisible buttons, and a panel opened up, leading into the complex. "If memory serves, this way should lead into the base…"

Meanwhile, Bertron was still trying to reconcile his son's apparently random acts of violence with any meaningful communication when he heard the automatic alarms go off. He shook his head in irritation. Now what could be so important that it would interrupt his communication with his darling boy? So he ignored them.

Ragnar made his way down the corridors, homing in unerringly on the feel of his power ring. Several automated defense/offense drones hummed around the corner, targeting him, bracketing him with both projectile and beam weaponry.

He dodged the projectiles, his healing factor coping almost instantly. The beams were impossible to dodge, but he was able to take cover behind some machinery, then re-emerged to zig-zag down the corridor, narrowing in on the silent signal from his ring. Oddly enough, even the hottest beams didn't seem to have much effect on him; even wounds that should have been self-cauterizing healed rapidly. But he couldn't detect Megan anywhere; first, he'd need his ring.

He found a bar of metal, and used that to bat away the most troublesome of the drones, all the while not slacking his pace. He _would_ get his ring back; he _would_ rescue Megan.

But his metal bar made for a poor substitute when he came to one corridor that seemed practically filled with drones from top to bottom.

…

Meanwhile, other drones had engaged the Green Lanterns and Doomsday in the corridors of the complex. The giant shrugged off the bullets and the beams alike, charging down the hallway, swatting the drones left and right. The others followed close behind, blasting the remaining drones whilst shielding themselves. Both Hal and John thought it peculiar that they encountered no stronger resistance.

Then a cloud of drones hove into view, like a swarm of killer bees, rapidly converging on the heroes…

Ragnar fought, using his metal bar like a quarterstaff. Strangely, even though it was solid metal, steel, seemingly, it proved remarkably easy to swing in the confines of the corridor.

He dodged, feinted, spun, and swung, using moves Nightwing had taught him, each swing catching anywhere from one to three drones, and ever moving forward, towards where he sensed his ring…

The Green Lanterns and Doomsday had reached a relatively clear spot near a terminal of odd design. "Here, let me try something." Doomsday's thick fingers danced nimbly over the console. "I don't believe it. _It's the same code._ " He couldn't keep the wonder out of his voice. _Well. That's convenient._ Then he gathered himself, and directed the others' attention to the screen. "See this area? It looks like it's cordoned off and specially reinforced. I'll wager that's where the other Doomsday is being held. I'll head there, but these areas here look to be holding chambers. Notice how they're centrally located around the main control area. I'd bet that's where our friends are being help. Or at least, it's a good place to start…."

"Doomsday? Could this be your mother's base?"

The monster shook his head. "First off, my mom wouldn't have kidnapped Ragnar and Miss Martian. Second, I'm seeing 'Bertron' repeatedly when I scroll down the screen. This looks to be this universe's version of my Bertran, who doesn't appear to be such a nice person. But some things remain similar: the layout of the place, for example. But anyway. You notice there's life-support in these areas—that indicates there's life _to_ support. Everything else appears to be automated. You guys go get our people, I'll go," and here, he cracked his knuckles, a savage smile on his face, "have a little _talk_ with this other me."

Bertron looked up from his calculations, an unmistakable frown on his alien features. His alarms were going off, and right now when he needed to concentrate the most. With an almost savage gesture, he silenced the alarms, and returned to his deliberations.

Oh! Yes! Of course! The horsey's tail went _right there!_ How obvious!

Ragnar swatted left and right with his steel bar, which by now was showing clear signs of damage. The bullets tore into him, but he healed so rapidly they were more annoyance than threat. In the back of his mind, he remembered once when, so long ago, the Joker had stabbed him with a simple knife and almost killed him. Now he was shrugging off far greater damage; evidently, he did share a bit of Doomsday's adaptive ability.

The beams burned hot, hotter than ever, and several times, he was forced to his knees…but always, the thought of his beloved Megan in danger drove him on. What the Earthlings called Hell itself wasn't going to keep him from her. He leaped to his feet and charged the remaining drones, an inarticulate cry of rage emerging from his throat….

Doomsday stalked down the corridor that, if the plans he'd seen were correct, led to the chamber where the other Doomsday was being kept. He could feel the deck shudder with the force of the monster's unceasing blows against the side of his prison, and, not for the first time, asked himself just how he was going to go about doing this.

Doomsday 1 had all of his abilities combined with an all-consuming rage that allowed for no quarter. And, like he himself, this version could adapt to any new threat. What did he have that could counter that?

He was still trying to come up with a decent plan when a spiked fist smashed through the wall just to his right, almost hitting him in the face.

Bertron was lying on his stomach in his primary control room, kicking his feet up, and contemplating his handiwork. He had finished his drawing, a nice pastoral scene. Now if he just had some colors, he could really make it look good.

The door to his control room was suddenly smashed inward, and he looked up in surprise. It was the gold one, the blue-skinned son of his workers. His clothes looked all torn and seemed burned, in some places. Maybe he'd come to bring him some colors? That would be a nice thing to do.

He held up his picture and pointed to it, very proud of his artwork. But the blue-skinned man snarled at him, and Bertron shrank back in fear. Vaguely, he remembered this one was supposed to be a prisoner, and therefore probably not a very nice person, but the sheer rage on his face set Bertron to trembling violently. Whatever was he going to do? He was no fighter.

Ragnar stood up, there in the higher-vaulted room, his expression determined. "I believe you have something that belongs to me." He extended his hand—the one with the new finger—and gestured.

Bertron felt the object in his pocket react to the will of the intruder. He clutched at the pocket, dropping his prized picture. "No! No! You can't take it! It's mine, it's mine! I _need_ it!" But to no avail. The ring heeded the call of its master, becoming an energy waveform and passing out of Berton's pocket like a ghost, homing in on Ragnar's outstretched finger. The glowing energy form wrapped itself around his finger…and became solid again. Ragnar brought it up to his face. _"To those in fear, I come to aid._

" _Let those who cause fear be afraid."_ An ascending, singing tone announced the ring's charging sequence.

" _Never more shall one fear fright…_

" _So swear I, by this golden light!"_ He could feel the ring's full charge, as it rested on his finger.

"No, no, you don't understand, I need it, give it back, give it back…" Bertron collapsed in tears.

Ragnar grasped him roughly. "Where is she? Where is the Martian girl who was with me?"

"…need it, give it back…Martian girl…mar shan gurl…" Bertron giggled. There was no indication of any degree of understanding in his words. "Mar Shan Gurl, Mar Shan Gurl, Mar Gurl Shan…"

" _Damn_ you!" shouted Ragnar, dropping the insane creature. He turned his attention to the banks of monitors around him. Leaving the lunatic babbling on the floor, he strode over to the nearest ones. In them, he could see Hal, John, Kilowog and Arisia slowly but surely pushing their way deeper into the base. How to contact them?

Oh, of course. He brought up his ring. "Hal? The is Ragnar. I managed to escape and I've got my ring back. Right now I'm in what looks like the primary control room.

" _Ragnar? Is that really you? Where are you?"_

"Yes, it's me. I just now adapted, I guess, to whatever force was keeping me under. There's an alien creature here…I can't believe he's the one responsible for all this, however. I think it's somebody's child."

" _A_ _child?_ _"_

"Either that or a hopeless lunatic. I can't get any sense out of him. Here; I'm sending you a picture. Look familiar?"

" _That's Bertron, he created Doomsday. The evil one, I mean. You say he's out of it?"_

"You see. He's not even coherent. I don't know what's happened to him, but it doesn't matter. I can't find Megan; she's not showing up on these monitors." Even as he spoke, a vast shudder went through the entire complex, as though a bomb had gone off somewhere in the depths of it. "What was that?"

"' _Our' Doomsday was gonna go find the other one. He may've done so. Can you call off these drones from where you are?"_

"I'll try." He examined the control panel, even as he privately chafed at the time it was costing him, time he could have been using to find Megan… "This looks to be a control feature." He flipped the switches.

Only some of the drones ceased their hostile activities. The rest continued to harass the heroes, but it did lighten the load. "Aw _right!_ " gloated Kilowog, as he smashed several drones aside. " _Now_ we're talkin'!"

 _We were talking before,_ thought a puzzled Ragnar. Oh, well, it didn't matter. "Ring. Locate Miss Martian."

Meanwhile, Doomsday 2 had closed with his counterpart. So this was how he could've turned out? It was a sobering thought.

Back and forth the two seemingly invincible beings fought, smashing each other through walls, floors, ceilings. They'd already crushed several vital systems, and ruptured the integrity of the outer hull; Doomsday could hear the planet's atmosphere shrieking into the lower pressured base's corridors. _Have to wrap this up._

Doomsday 1 had all the physical power of Doomsday 2, but the latter had undergone extensive training on the use of his great strength. Bertran, Metron, Highfather, and a great many others had taught him ways to utilize his power.

So now he fought his counterpart using martial arts moves adapted especially for his strength. Blow after blow fell upon Doomsday 1, and it was forced back, into a defensive position. And, as had been the case ever since Doomsday 1 began its infamous career, it began to adapt to this new situation.

But the new situation required a certain modicum of intelligence, and, as the monster evolved, it began to perceive the attacks, and the pattern of them. It anticipated the blows, the kicks, the body slams…and remembered.

It remembered something it had never really remembered before, not the same way: it remembered how it had been hurt, physically hurt, the pain from the other's attack becoming part of its awareness. It didn't like to hurt, didn't like pain, and so began to fall back, just a little.

The Doomsday monster was driven by rage, but rage is only one of the many emotions that dwell within the hearts of sapient beings. There's also courage, and of that, Doomsday 2 had plenty.

So Doomsday 1 fell back, sensing that this one could hurt it, and not wanting to get hurt like before, and Doomsday 2 pressed his attack, slamming the other's head between his fists, raining blow after blow down upon certain key points of the monster's body. Back and back Doomsday 1 fell, trying to adapt to the skill of the other, and failing.

Doomsday 2 looked down at the unconscious body of his antagonist. That had been…just a little too close. Now to find the others.

Ragnar had joined the Green Lanterns, and their combined efforts managed to sweep the corridors free of the drones. "In here," he told them, leading them into the main control room. Bertron still lay on the floor, in a fetal position, sucking his thumb, and mumbling. "You're telling me _this_ is the one responsible for our problems, here?"

"Yeah." John Stewart knelt over the alien's curled up body. "What happened to him, anyway?"

"I don't know. All I know is I burst in on him, and basically found him like this. He had my ring; I took it back. And now, I can't actually sense Megan, but, according to this readout, she's several floors down…" He turned around, obviously intending to go to her.

"Ragnar, look. We need you to stay here with Bertron, make sure he's not faking or something. Yes," Hal saw the look on Ragnar's face, "I know you want to go get Megan, and we'll do that. But right now, our Doomsday is battling his 'twin' from this universe. Kilowog, you go see what you can do there. Arisia, stay here with Ragnar, okay?" He privately suspected that, of all of them, Arisia had a better chance of actually reigning in Ragnar's desperate desire to rescue Megan personally. "John, you come with me." He clapped Ragnar on the back. "Look, don't worry, okay? The cavalry's arrived. Uh, that means the good guys are here. We'll go get Megan, Kilowog and Doomsday will see to Bertron's monster, and we'll all meet up at that airlock we came in by, okay?"

Ragnar was clearly uncomfortable with just remaining here. "C'mon, Ragnar. Keep a girl company, okay?" Arisia locked her arm in his. Was it just her imagination, or did he look… _bigger_ now than she remembered him? "Besides, from the looks of this place, it seems a lot like your old wrecked ship. We need to get these files. You probably know more about how this place works than anyone else." They could feel the shuddering of the massive base as the two Doomsdays battled it out. "The guys'll get Megan, I promise."

"I—I don't know, I, I want to-*"

"I know, believe me, I know. But you're needed here." Both Hal and John had already left, zipping down the corridor towards the area the computers had indicated Miss Martian was being held.

What none of the GLs had wanted to even hint at, was their greatest fear: what had the madman done to Megan while she was his captive? Was she even alive, still? J'onn J'onnz had received no telepathic communication from her…what had Bertron done to her? They might need to prepare Ragnar for the worst. And the worst need not be simple death.

But the room where she was apparently being held was reassuringly normal, given that it was still a prison area in an alien space base. Twin beams of green energy smashed in the door, and Hal and John crowded into the room.

Miss Martian lay on her back, on a smallish cot, under the influence of what appeared to be a standard stasis-ray. Holding his breath, Hal scanned her with his ring, then breathed easier when it reported no damage. As far as the ring could determine, she was simply asleep.

"Hal, look." John drew his attention to the complex machines in the room, circular arrangements reminiscent of Earthly positron emission tomography devices, but of a kind and nature neither of the two Lanterns were familiar with. "What are those for, I wonder?"

"Maybe Arisia can find out, from the files." He blasted the stasis generator, and Miss Martian opened her eyelids, blinking a few times. "Oh, not again!" It was getting a little old, this being rescued thing. Not that she was really complaining all that much…but she was beginning to feel like a permanent damsel in distress.

"Easy, Megan. It's alright. We're here, and everything's okay." Hal soothed her. She sat up, rubbing the side of her head. "What do you remember?"

She grimaced. "Going out to the Source Wall with Ragnar. Wait, where's Ragnar?" Her eyes grew wide as she remembered.

"Easy, easy, he's here, he's on his way. Apparently, Bertron waylaid the both of you, took you captive. Do you remember anything about that?"

"No-o, only, only that he—I guess it was him—woke me up once to ask me if I had any," and here she blushed, "children. Then he put me right back under. It was Bertron, you say?"

"Yeah, but everything's under control now." Kilowog had just signaled him that Doomsday 1 had been defeated. Hal sent a silent signal to Arisia, who was doing her damndest to distract a very worried Ragnar, that it was safe to let him come on down. "Come on, we'll meet down in the main airlock. From the way this place is sounding, I don't think it'll be too long before it totally gives way." And it was true; all throughout the vast base they could feel shudderings, and hear the screeching of rending metal, the occasional sharp explosion of overloading circuits.

The airlock. "He had the strength, but he didn't have the moves," said Doomsday, towing the unconscious body of his counterpart behind him. He and Kilowog had wrapped several hypersteel cables around the monster's body. They might not hold it for all that long, but they would hold long enough.

"But where's Ragnar?" Megan was asking worriedly. "He wasn't hurt, was he?" At that moment, Ragnar and Arisia entered from the door behind her, with the cuffed form of Bertron between them. The alien scientist was busy making blippity-blip sounds with his lips, apparently fascinated by the sound.

"Megan!" Ragnar called out to her, rushing to her, his concern and his relief evident on his blue face. Yep, thought Arisia, as she watched him run towards Miss Martian, he was definitely bigger now than before. What could be causing that?

Megan turned towards the sound of his voice, relief in her own face, turning to face him as he rushed up to her. For the briefest of moments, she gazed up at him, eyes wide…

…and then she screamed in horror.

 _To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5: Mysteries

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 5: Mysteries

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. I'd like to, but I don't._

Oa: Arisia came back into the waiting area where the others were sitting in knuckle-popping silence. She noticed Doomsday was sitting, cross-legged on the floor, close by Ragnar, with Hal on his other side. They'd already delivered both the unconscious Doomsday 1 and its insane creator to the Guardians. "Anything?" she asked. The Guardians were checking Megan out, and they'd been in there a very long time.

Nobody said anything, and she felt her heart sink. Surely, surely there had to be something…just then, the door irised open and Ganthet floated in, hands tucked in his sleeves. But his expression was not reassuring.

"I…we have examined the Martian girl quite thoroughly, and we are continuing to do so," he told a distraught Ragnar, "but as to what has been done to her…mind you, she wasn't _hurt,_ as such, not physically, but evidently, Bertron used his technology to somehow alter her neural pathways, especially in the emotive centers of her brain. She is fully conscious of everything, and under no delusions, you understand. She knows who you are…and what you mean to her. It isn't that. It's just that, apparently, the sight of you causes feelings of horror to arise within her. She," and here he paused, and shrugged apologetically, something none of the GLs in the room could ever remember a Guardian doing, "simply feels horror whenever she sees you. She still knows you and," pause, "cares about you, but the actual sight of you activates a mental circuit that produces the reaction you saw."

Ragnar turned away. Arisia wanted to go over to him, reassure him somehow, but she didn't know how. Instead, she turned to Ganthet. "But you can fix her, right? I mean, that sort of thing ought to be child's play for you guys…" _Please tell me it's child's play for you guys…_

Ganthet paused just long enough for a held breath. Then, "I…am sorry, Lantern Arisia, but the matter is not quite so easy. The method of meme implantation Bertron used is very advanced, and the simple truth is, we've little experience with Martians. There are things we can try, but success cannot be guaranteed." This last he said with a downcast expression. He clearly wished he had better news. Ragnar kept his back turned to the group, but Arisia noticed his shoulders shake, just a little. Doomsday reached out and put a hand on his back.

She turned to Ganthet. "Can I see her? I mean, she's okay with everyone else, right?"

"Of course. And, yes, you may. In fact, that might be the very best thing that could be done for her at this time." And he ushered her back into the medical complex to the room where Miss Martian lay on a small exam table.

"Arisia?" Megan looked very small and vulnerable, there on the table, the golden GL thought. So very vulnerable. "Arisia? What—what's happened to me?"

Arisia gathered her up in her arms. "I'm not sure, but we'll find a way to beat it, whatever it is. If a thing can be done, it can be undone." She could feel the Martian girl's sobs against her chest. "It'll all work out, you'll see." _There's not enough pain in the universe to pay that monster back for what he did to you._

Outside, in the waiting area: Hal moved over to Ragnar's private island of misery. The Gold Lantern hadn't turned to look any of them in the face since Ganthet's report; Doomsday still kept a supportive hand on his back. "Ragnar? I…I really don't know what to say right now. I'd say I understand what you're going through, but that would be a lie, and we'd both know it. I _can't_ fully understand what you're going through, except in the ways I've had such…things…happen in my life. I can assure you that everything that can be done to help Megan, will be done. I know that's not much comfort right now, but…"

"I, I know what you mean, Hal Jordan. I…appreciate your attempts to make me feel better." _It doesn't help a bit, but I thank you for trying, anyway._

…

Mt. Justice: the Team, minus Miss Martian and Ragnar Rok, had convened in the main meeting hallway, with Doomsday sitting off to one side a bit, again crosslegged on the floor. None of the chairs could hold him, anyway. "So that's the story. We don't know how he did it, but Bertron apparently instilled some kind of automatic feeling of horror in Megan, for whenever she sees Ragnar. And, given his current mental state, Bertron himself appears incapable of reversing the process, or, in fact, of even saying his own name. You've all seen the report.

"So I don't know what we're going to do next. Basically, we've got two members down. Ragnar's expressed a worry that his being around Megan for any extended time will affect her, and that's a legitimate concern. If she even catches a glimpse of him… And Megan…well, we may as well call it what it is: she's a victim of what amounts to a kind of psychological rape. Nobody knows how this will affect her in the long run, or if this is only one of several autonomous subroutines Bertron implanted in her. Even she doesn't know what she'll do next. So for now they both need our support. She's taken an indefinite leave of absence, and I understand J'onn J'onzz will be taking her back to Mars, to see if the Martian mystics can help her. It's for certain we can't do anything for her here.

"Doomsday? How's Ragnar holding up?"

The giant shook his massive head. "About like you'd expect. Blames himself, of course. Says if only he'd awakened earlier, etc. And I don't guess I have to tell anyone he's pretty much an emotional basket case right now." He paused. "I…don't know if he'll continue with the Team or not. Painful memories, you know."

"See if you can talk to him. You two seem to have a bond, sort of. Not only do we need him now more than ever, but he needs something to do. Sitting around brooding all day is about the worst thing he could do."

"I'll talk to him. I understand he went up to the Watchtower to speak with J'onn, give him a report. I'll get with him as soon as he gets back."

"Good deal."

On board the Watchtower, J'onn J'onzz was standing with Ragnar on the flying bridge of the main control room. The monitors showed the Earth, half in shadow, with the shadowed half brightly lit by the lights of cities and towns. Ragnar glanced at it, unable to see any beauty at all in the sight. How could there be any beauty, anywhere, he thought, when _she_ had been taken from him?

There was no beauty. Not for him.

"So that is all you remember, young Ragnar? There was nothing else?"

"No, sir. We encountered the theta-bomb at the asteroid near where I'd left the mindless Doomsday body. That's the last thing I remember until I woke up in Bertron's lair, with my ring gone, and Megan…not there" He found he couldn't say any more.

J'onn studied him a moment. "I see you've a new finger. That indicates that Bertron probably severed your old one in order to acquire your ring. That seems to be a regrettably standard practice with some beings." Ragnar looked at his hand, noting, for the first time, the brand-new finger upon which his ring rode. "I had not noticed that, sir."

"Given all that has happened to you since, that is hardly surprising." Suddenly, he turned to face the Gold Lantern. They were about the same height, J'onn noted. Although the Martian had never really noticed before, he didn't think that had always been the case. "Young man. I comprehend that you are undergoing a great deal of…anguish right now. But keep in mind: _you are not to blame_. What happened to my niece was not your fault. You should not be overwhelming yourself with these feelings of guilt I sense coming from you."

"Thank you, sir." Ragnar's face was completely impassive, but J'onn knew his words had had no effect whatsoever. Emotions simply do not respond to logical analysis. Martians had emotions, but the older of them had managed to subjugate their emotions to their intellect. But with young people of any species, that isn't always possible.

 _How would I feel, were I him?_ –J'onn asked himself. And he truly didn't know the answer to that. "You do know that my niece's emotions regarding you have not changed, do you not? This, that has happened to her, is more on the order of, of an acquired reflex. I believe it can be overcome with proper meditation techniques. Have…have a little faith." Even as he said it, he realized it sounded weak.

"Thank you, sir."

 _Well, I've done all I can do here,_ thought J'onn, checking the time. M'gann should be arriving shortly, and the two of them would be leaving for the hidden Martian city beneath Mons Olympus, to confer with some of the Martian elders. _I wish I felt as confident as I sounded to him._

After he'd left, Ragnar stood at the monitors, looking at the world he'd promised to protect, and remembering. He knew better than to go to the receiving area, since M'gann would be arriving, and he had no wish to cause her any more pain. So he'd just stay here until it was safe to go, then return to the base at Mt. Justice.

M'gann. Almost his very first memory of Earth was of her; she was one of the first people he'd ever actually _talked_ to, in his entire existence, the first one who'd even showed much interest in talking to him. When he was a yellow lantern, wielding the light of fear, he'd thought his purpose in life was to teach others to be afraid, so they'd be ready, so they wouldn't have to die, the way his parents had died. But since meeting her, and yes, the others as well, his horizons had grown somewhat.

Now there was so much more to be afraid of.

"Penny for 'em," said a familiar female voice. Arisia had come up beside him while he stood, unseeing. Yep, she thought, he was definitely taller now than before. Growth spurt, maybe?

"I don't think my thoughts are worth that, right now, Arisia." He leaned over the railing, pretending to examine the wall monitors, in reality seeing nothing but the look of horror on Megan's face.

When she'd seen him.

When she'd seen _him._

"Ragnar. You know we'll find a way to beat this, don't you? You've too many people working on it for this to be anything other than temporary." The golden GL leaned over the railing herself, resisting the temptation to put an arm around him. "I don't care what it takes, whether it's Guardian superscience or Martian mysticism, we _will_ find a way." Silence. "I know it's hard to see daylight from the bottom of a well, but that doesn't mean the daylight isn't there. Just that it's hard to see." More silence. "C'mon. It's lunchtime. Buy a girl lunch. Or let a girl buy you lunch, either one. Come on, now." And she put her arm through his, tugging him in the direction of the commissary. "We both gotta eat, even if we don't feel like it." And he let her lead him away.

Hidden in the lift doorway, on the other side of the room, Guy Gardner watched them go.

…..

It was nighttime, and again he walked the streets of the city.

He'd learned, long ago, to avoid certain areas, not out of fear, but simply due to a desire to be alone. Of course, that, with reservations, since, if he really wished to be alone, there were many places on the Earth where he could go to be completely away from any human being.

So it might be more accurate to say that he preferred to keep a certain distance between himself and the rest of mankind. He'd seen so much, over the course of centuries…

In appearance, he was of medium-tall height, with dark skin, thick black hair, and wearing what appeared to be a dark tan trenchcoat that had seen better days. He seemed to be wearing some oddly marked dark red and black gloves and boots, though a closer examination of either would have revealed something much more disturbing.

He heard the old woman's cry from just around the corner, and sighed to himself. Sometimes, humanity could be "a pain," as the current saying went.

It had been a very, very long time since he'd felt pain, as humans understood it. But some things you don't forget.

The muggers had already taken her purse, and the larger one was holding her up against a building. "C'mon, I know ya got more'n that. You ain't holdin' out on us, are ya?" And he shook the terrified woman.

He moved out of the shadows. "Leave her alone."

The gang members looked up in amusement. "Oh, we got us a hero, do we? Hey, boys, show 'em how we respect heroes down here." The others drew wickedly-sharp knives and converged on the dark-skinned man.

Who simply held up his arms. Suddenly, long, curved blades extended from the backs of his wrists. The gang-bangers fell back, fear on their faces. "You had your chance."

Faster than the human eye could follow, the dark-skinned man pirouetted through them like a ballet dancer, his blades slicing through their bodies like butter. In less than a heartbeat, the gang members had been reduced to steaming piles of bleeding, quivering flesh.

He looked at the woman, who was watching him with the same fear she'd felt for her attackers. "Go your way. Remember, this place is not safe." He held up his wrists, the blades retracting into his arms, _snickt_ ing into place with a very slight metallic sound. "I will go now." And with that, he vanished as swiftly as if he'd become one with the night.

The Watchtower: Arisia had to practically insist that Ragnar get a tray of food. Watching him pick at it reminded her of not long ago, when she'd deliberately picked a fight with M'gann, to lift her spirits, when M'gann thought she'd driven Ragnar away permanently. "C'mon, at least _pretend_ to eat."

"I'm sorry, Arisia. I just have no appetite."

She nodded. "Look, believe it or not, I understand. You feel like you've lost the world, don't you?" He nodded. He was just so very _young,_ thought the twenty-something year old Green Lantern of Graxos IV. "But it's like I said: whatever's been done, can be undone. There's bound to be a way. And, and, in the meantime, there's one thing you can take comfort in." He looked up in surprise, and she nestled her chin on her interlaced fingers, looking at him across the table. "What Megan's feeling, this horror whenever she sees you, is _artificial._ It was _imposed_ on her from outside. It's not the way she really feels. It's not a genuine feeling, is what I'm saying. And because of that, it's something she—and we-can fight.

"You know, I talked with Megan quite a bit before she left. She still loves you, wants to be with you. Once she works through this…"

"Arisia, I thank you for what you are trying to do, but what I'm hearing everybody being very careful not to actually say is, there may not be a 'cure' for this…condition."

"What you're hearing from _me_ is, I don't believe that. There's bound to be a way. You know the Earth saying: it's always darkest before the dawn."

"I've never understood that."

Grin. "To be honest, neither have I. But still. You gotta think of the future. The immediate future, I mean. What will you do now?" Across the room, Arisia saw Hal and John enter with their trays. Hal gave her a look, an upraised eyebrow: _join you?_

She gave him the tiniest shake of her head. _Not right now._ This was too private, too intensely personal a conversation for more than just her and Ragnar.

He had paused, unaware of the interplay. "I am not really sure. I know the Team needs me, Nightwing has said, now more than ever. But I still…" He looked off, still seeing nothing but his lost love. "It will be…very painful."

"Well, you're not alone in this, remember. And not just the Team. There's me, Hal, John, Kilowog, hell, the Guardians themselves, not to mention pretty much everyone in the Justice League."

"I know, Arisia, and please don't think I'm not grateful. It's just…" he trailed off.

She reached over and rubbed his arm. "It's a bad time, Ragnar. I know that. But bad times don't last. You'll see." They both stood up to go, and impulsively, she hugged him. "Just…just hang in there, okay? And, and stay in touch. I mean, with me, personally. I want to know how you are, okay? That's what friends are for."

"Thank you, Arisia. I will do that." He turned and left, heading for the teleport chamber. By now, Miss Martian and her uncle would have come and gone, and he supposed he needed to report back in to Mt. Justice.

Oa: Ganthet and Llianna were communicating in the main meeting hall. None of the other Guardians were present; this suited them perfectly, as what they had to say was of a sort and nature as to not require immediate sharing with the group. No, not immediate at all. **{{You have examined the alien, Berton?}}**

 **{{I have. There is nothing physically wrong with him, and nothing of a psychological nature that we can detect. Were we limited to superficial senses, I would say he is faking, but deep scans indicate he is not.}}**

 **{{What has happened to him?}}**

Pause. Then she drew a deep, unnecessary breath. **{{I do not know. Apparently, his mind suffered from some outside influence that…drove him into the condition he now is. The only matter of significance is that the pathology of whatever has afflicted him seemed to begin right around the time he removed the Gold Lantern's ring, and began to keep it for himself.}}**

Ganthet frowned. **{{So…what are you saying? The gold ring drove him insane?}}**

 **{{Simply put, but essentially, yes, all evidence seems to indicate that that is exactly the case. This in marked contrast to other power rings.}}** And this was true. Power rings could be stolen, taken by force, from their rightful owners, and even used, to some limited degree, by others of sufficient willpower. However, they generally had no overt effect on the minds of their unauthorized users. Apparently the gold ring was different.

But why?

…

Happy Harbor High: Ragnar was staring dejectedly at the contents of his locker, wondering if he could request one a bit farther away. _Hers_ was just two lockers down.

"…heard about that stuck-up Morse girl? You heard she took 'extended absence,' right?"

"Yeah." There was a rather nasal laugh. "We know what _that_ means!"

Ragnar looked up slightly, not wanting to be seen listening to the exchange. What _did_ that mean? He knew nobody here could possibly know about Megan's true condition, any more than they could know her secret identity.

"She'll be back in about a year, probably telling us all about how beautiful France is, some cock and bull story."

"Wonder what she'll name the baby?"

Baby? Waaiiiiiit a minute…

Some deeply buried instinct warned him that it was probably not a good idea to remain here where their words could reach him. He closed his locker, taking care not to slam it, and did his best not to stalk off down the hallway.

Midnight: On a hillside not far outside of town, Sinestro sat, cross-legged, at the mouth of a cave, ironically the same one Ragnar had stopped at, briefly, when he first fell to Earth. He thought as he looked over the lights of the sleeping city.

Thaal Sinestro of Korugar both hated and loved puzzles. He hated not knowing the answers to problems, not knowing how to apply those answers to his own uses, but he grudgingly admitted that puzzles simply meant (usually) that opportunity existed, waiting to be seized.

Were it not for puzzles, the Guardians would have permanently exiled him from all the physical universe as they knew it. But they had not foreseen his journey to the antimatter universe of Qward, of his convincing the Weaponers to fashion him a power ring that used the yellow light, which, at that time, the green power rings were completely vulnerable to. Were it not for puzzles, for the unknown factors of the universe, he'd have been unable to create such rings for himself and his new Corps, by directly accessing the power of the emotional spectrum.

So puzzles, once solved, represented opportunity. He knew that. But he chafed at the slowness of the solving process.

"Master?" Lyssa Drak emerged from the darkness of the cave. Darkness was her natural home. Seen from a distance, or through obscuring agents, she could easily have appeared exotically beautiful, with her deep-blue skin, wavy shoulder-length midnight-black hair, and curvaceous feminine form, which she usually displayed to full effect. But a close-up look, especially of the lines and angles of her face, the coldness in her eyes, tended to cure anyone of any amorous notions. Sinestro, of course, was unaffected by her, either way. "You have been silent for some time. I sense a quandary, within you."

He raised his eyebrow at her, barely turning his head. "Do you?"

"It occurs to me that perhaps additional information may be needed in a case such as this." This was Drak's typically passive way of telling him he was in a deadlock. None of the Corps members dared hint that Sinestro _might not know the answer_ to something, and Lyssa Drak had been with the Corps longer than most.

He thought. He knew Lyssa Drak almost better than she knew herself… "And I take it, you've a suggestion for remedying that?"

"We've already tapped into the computers of the Earth heroes, and learned nothing. Our means of acquiring information from the Guardians is, of course, limited. However, one notes that the young boy you interviewed earlier said something odd."

Sinestro rubbed his chin. "Yes, he did. The ring, the Gold ring, being the key to pain. And that it must not be removed from young Ragnar Rok's finger. I could sense," he narrowed his eyes, thinking, "I could sense he really knew no more beyond that, or I would have questioned him further."

"How did he come by this knowledge? Feeling? Intuition? Or…" She paused, significantly, for effect. "He _is_ the only one who has gone mind-to-mind with the Gold Lantern and not had his brain negatively affected. It would seem that, if answers, at least answers available to us, are to be found, that is where they must be."

"Hm. Perhaps…" And Sinestro did what was, for him, a very odd thing: he actually took her advice, without even trying to keep to any pretense of previous or original knowledge. "You and Arkillo. Come with me." Soon, the trio found themselves, once again, in the sky over the house of Tommy Walker's new family.

Once again, as the other two kept guard, Sinestro soundlessly teleported into the boy's room. The child should be asleep, and in waking, would be all the more vulnerable to a few quick, carefully worded questions. And more easily terrified, if it should come to that.

But something was wrong. This room…the bed was made, and the objects in it…many were not there. Thaal Sinestro had a very good eye for detail, and he noted a fine patina of dust over the dresser and the furniture, such as might collect over a period of months. There were even a few cobwebs in one corner. Cobwebs with dried insect hulls in them.

On the drawer were some small framed pictures. He picked one up, blowing off the dust, frowning at it. It showed a man and a woman, Tommy's parents, presumably, before the Blackest Night incident took them from him. They were huddled in the center of the picture, half kneeling down, smiling at whoever was holding the camera, and the man had his arm around the woman, who also was laughing. It seemed to be at some Earthly amusement park.

But both their arms were draped around a vaguely child-sized emptiness, as though they were only pretending. But there was no sign of pretense in their faces or body language. There was no one else in the picture, save for some humans walking in the background.

Thaal Sinestro, the undisputed intergalactic master of fear, could not help but feel a tingle run up the back of his spine.

Wenesday: Dick Grayson put his head in his hands and groaned. As the only locatable representative of the Wayne Foundation, "Ragin Ramanujin's" sponsor here in the US, the school notice had come to him. "Three days suspension, Ragnar? For fighting? Wanna tell me how _that_ happened?"

"Certainly." The Gold Lantern sat across the desk from him, in uniform, one leg casually crossed over the other. "I was walking down the hallway during class changes, when I overheard some boys saying something about Megan. I would really rather not go into detail. I turned to leave the vicinity, but then one of them saw me, said something about me being something to her—frankly, it was a word I don't understand-, and asked me a question about her. Again, I'd really rather not go into detail, but, to put it as delicately as possible, the overall gist of it was-*"

"Never mind, I can guess." _Hell is high school._

"I know I am still an alien here on your world, but there still seemed to me to be only one appropriate response."

Dick sighed, looking over the reports. Several lockers had been damaged, the doors smashed inwards, and two of the boys had required medical attention. _Actually, I probably would've done the same thing. Maybe even a little less restrained._ Aloud, "Well, I'll…deal with this." The damage had been significant. Was Ragnar stronger now than he had been? When they'd first encountered him, he'd really not been that much stronger than an average, well-muscled human of similar age, height and build. Of course, he _had_ been training with the rest of the Team, but…Nightwing made a mental note to come up with some way of measuring his strength. After all, he did have some of the same genes as Doomsday… "I hope you didn't use your ring."

"Of course not. I do have some sense, Nightwing." Hm. Ragnar had given a good account of himself back at Bertron's fortress, apparently standing up to Bertron's security drones even without the aid of his ring. Yes, it seemed like he might be changing…

"Well, anyway. I've got a mission for you, and now that you're…free from your academic schedule for a few days, it fits you perfectly. There's been a series of deaths on the south side of town, evidently by a metahuman. The only eye witnesses give contradictory reports. I want you to check into it. Go by police headquarters and see if your ring can tell you anything about the victims…beyond what we already know, I mean. Take Conner with you."

….

"Superboy! Glad you could make it." Lieutenant O'Neal greeted them at the door. "Don't really know what we've got here, but it looks to be something right up your alley. Who's this?" He pointed to Ragnar.

"Lieutenant, this is one of our newest members, Ragnar Rok. He's a Gold Lantern. You know, like a Green Lantern, only...Gold."

"Gold Lantern." O'Neal looked Ragnar over. "For a minute there, I thought you were one 'a those yellow lanterns, what do they call em? Sinister Corps? Or something like that."

"Sinestro Corps. And no, sir, I am not a Sinestro Corps member. Not any more." Ragnar saw the lieutenant's quizzical look. "It's a long story."

O'Neal shrugged. He didn't really know that much about the various corps, or what they did. "Well, I don't care if you're Polka Dot Corps, as long as you're on our side. Anyway, let me show you what we've got."

He showed Superboy and Ragnar into the morgue, down in the precinct house's basement. The two heroes studied the fragments of the bodies before them. "And we can't even figure out what kinda weapon did this. Look at these cuts. A laser wouldn't cut that smooth and sharp. Besides, a laser would leave burn marks, an' there ain't none."

Superboy walked around the gurneys the ME had pulled out of the wall. The pieces of the bodies of the gang-bangers had been arranged in as close to natural order as was possible; some had to be propped, or otherwise held together, however.

The cuts themselves were very fine, and showed the use of some instrument completely unknown to either of them, far sharper than anything either of them were familiar with. "Ragnar? Can your ring sense anything unusual?"

Ragnar passed his ring hand over the corpses, frowning as he registered the information it fed him. "Nothing all that unusual, Superboy…but you might not want to get too close."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I'm sensing a very small trace of kryptonite." Superboy looked up, alarmed; no one who'd ever felt the effects of the deadly cosmic substance could ever take the notion of being in the vicinity of kryptonite lightly. "Are you sure?"

Ragnar nodded. "It's very small, but it's there. I suppose it _could_ be naturally occurring, in that small an amount…"

"One way to find out." At Superboy's request, the ME's assistant opened up another vault, rolling out another body. "Scan this one."

Again Ragnar passed his hand over the shrouded form. He shook his head. "I'm not picking up anything. Perhaps this body is too old?"

"Here; try this one." The assistant pulled out another gurney. "This one just came in. MVA."

Ragnar scanned the body. "No. I am sensing no trace of kryptonite in either of these. But these…" he indicated the bodies of the gang members, "there is a small trace. But that is the only true anomaly I can sense."

"No way that ring of yours could tell us what could have made these cuts?"

Ragnar thought. "No, lieutenant, not really. The ring has some computing ability, but it doesn't actually have any real intelligence, or deductive or reasoning powers. But I can think of one possibility."

"Yes?"

"This is only a thought, you understand, but if these people were subjected to a field of spatial displacement, it might produce a similar result."

"Spatial displacement?"

"In other words, if their bodies had been subjected to some form of teleportation effect. But it would have to be weaponized, producing a razor-thin cutting beam, rather than a beam of actual transportation. A slicing beam, in other words. However…I am not sure I believe that." He frowned, and passed his ring over the bodies again. "No, I'm sensing what Nightwing tells me are called draw marks."

"Draw marks?"

"When a sharp object is drawn through a medium. In this case, human flesh."

"Hm." He'd been paying attention to Nightwing's lessons, and it showed. "But…you're saying the killer, then, used some kind of kryptonite weapon?"

"The amount I'm sensing isn't nearly enough for a weapon or device of any kind. If it was, you'd probably be affected. Although I don't have that much experience with this sort of thing, I would think it more likely the _killer_ was exposed to kryptonite at some point. What we are seeing is more likely secondary or even tertiary exposure."

"Great," said Superboy, frowning. "But this may actually help us. There aren't that many people who have access to kryptonite, in any form, to any degree, especially with the Justice League rounding it up and getting rid of it over the years. I'll check with Nightwing, but I doubt anybody outside of a very few people could get any of the stuff. So that ought to narrow it down some.

"But these cuts…wish I'd brought a camera. I'd like to get Batgirl's opinion on them."

"I can use my ring to take photographs and deep scan three dimensional holographs, if you like."

"You can? Good, yeah, do that. That's a handy gizmo you've got there. Er, no pun intended." He was thinking of what Batgirl and Wonder Girl had told them about, about the mysterious being they'd run across in the American Civil War, and how the bodies had been in fragments. Fragments like these?

And Nightwing had said something about some unknown sword or blade wielding entity, and who'd appeared in ancient records. Coincidence?

Somehow, he didn't think so.

 _To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6: Plans Within Plans

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 6: Plans Within Plans

…

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps._

… _._

The Gold Corps: Plans Within Plans

Sinestro's team was flying high in the stratosphere when Lyssa Drak gasped. "Master! Do—do you feel that?"

Sinestro stiffened. Arkillo looked on uncomprehendingly. "Yes, yes, Lyssa, I do." There was a great outpouring of _fear_ , lovely empowering _fear_ coming from a single point below, in the same city they had just been in. With the skill of long practice, Sinestro zeroed in on the emanations…and they were abruptly cut off.

A cessation that abrupt usually meant those feeling the fear…no longer lived. And while Sinestro did not regard it as any of his business to interfere in the affairs of Earth—not yet, anyway—the event he'd just sensed had all the earmarks of a deliberate attempt at a signal. "There. Down there. Arkillo, you remain here, in reserve. Drak, you accompany me."

Downward they plummeted, heading for the top of a tall building in the middle of the city. Upon the roof was an LED display of the Sinestro Corps insignia.

 _Yes, definitely a deliberate signal._ Someone had managed to get his attention in such a way as to leave no doubt: they wanted a face-to-face.

Standing upon the roof of the building, wearing a standard businessman's suit, was a tall, stout figure calmly watching the two yellow lanterns approaching. He appeared to be about middle age for a human, and sported a neatly trimmed white beard. "Ah. Thaal Sinestro of Korugar. I see you got my message. Good."

"You've the advantage of me, then," said Sinestro, in a neutral tone of voice. An expert at reading people, he could tell this human was not one to be trifled with. Automatically, he scanned for ambush, but his ring detected nothing of the sort in place.

"This isn't an ambush," said the man with a smile. "I've something much more interesting in mind. For us both."

"Who are you?" At his silent command, through the ring, Lyssa Drak also hung back a few yards, scanning the strange human with her own unique senses.

"Call me Mr. Smith. It'll do, for our negotiations."

"Negotiations? I take it you've some reason to think we've something to negotiate."

The human smiled. "How does the end of the world sound?"

….

Batgirl was returning from her nightly patrol, having already changed, and was heading for the showers, when she noticed the light in the gym was on. Curious, she headed that way, expecting to catch Dick doing some late-night training.

But it wasn't Nightwing. It was Ragnar.

Barbara Gordon's eyes widened as she took in one other fact: apparently, he'd disengaged the safety protocols of the simulation equipment.

He stood, stance relaxed, knees flexed, as several drones zeroed in on him. She expected him to sweep them out of the way with his ring, but instead, he leaped, turned, and twisted into a series of flying kicks, shattering one drone, driving another into the ground, and grabbing an arm of the last, ripped it off, and, using it like a quarterstaff, speared the drone through the center, a "killing" blow.

She hastily hit the "off" switch before the computer could generate more of the drones. "Ragnar! What are you doing, working with no safety protocols?! You know that's dangerous! What were you thinking?"

He lit upon his feet, as agile as a cat. "I…couldn't sleep."

"So you thought you'd come put your life in danger? C'mon, Ragnar. You know there's more to it than that."

"Yes, there is. You're absolutely right." She waited, until it became apparent he wasn't going to expand on that.

"Look, Ragnar. I know you're going through a special kind of hell right now. But, but endangering yourself isn't the way to deal with it!" She moved closer, becoming aware that he'd grown some since she'd first seen him. Clad, as he was, in a standard _gi_ , she couldn't really tell about his body, but he was definitely taller. And he seemed bigger, broader, somehow.

Still he said nothing. "Look," she said, sitting down beside him. She was conscious of needing a shower herself. Superhero costumes got _hot_ , even when one was swinging through mid-air. But this couldn't wait. "If, if you wanna talk about it, you know any of us would listen. Is this about M'gann?"

"Partly." She waited. "But not totally." He half-turned and looked at her. "I, I have been having…dreams lately. Dreams I don't understand. But…I find myself reluctant to go back to sleep, when they come."

She rubbed his back, nodding. "Nightmares. I know. That's normal, Ragnar, what with all you've been through-*"

"That's just it. They're not…not nightmares, not really." Again, he fell silent.

"What are they about?"

"I can never remember everything, but…but one thing seems predominant: _destruction._ Everything is, is a desolate wasteland, everything destroyed. Cities, countries, whole planets. And, and…" and here again, he paused, as though uncertain how much to say, "…and by _my hand._ Whatever has happened, whatever cataclysm has taken place…I am responsible."

Again she nodded. Of course. It was all fitting the pattern. "Ragnar, that's inner anger talking. Believe me, it's not that unusual. You've been through a lot. It would be more astounding if you _didn't_ have bad dreams."

He leaned forward, putting his face in his hands, hiding his features. "That's just it, Barbara. They are not bad dreams. Not bad dreams at all." Now he looked up, looked her full in the face, through eyes widening at unwelcome realization. "When I have those dreams…I _enjoy_ them."

…..

Sinestro stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The end of the world? A trifle melodramatic, wouldn't you think? Besides, I fail to see how such would truly benefit anyone."

"There are many ways for the world to end. Or, perhaps I should say, the world _as we know it._ "

 _Now_ Sinestro felt he was beginning to understand. This human wished to destroy the world _as it was_ , and remake it with himself in a position of authority. Inwardly, he sighed. He'd heard this story often enough. "And, I take it, you wish my help in this matter?"

"I do. Working together, we can bring about an end to this current sorry world, and usher in a much better one."

"But this is not my world, nor the world of any of my corps members. So what reason are you going to give for my involvement?"

"My proposal is simple. I help you end the world. You, and your corps, get to rule the world that arises from its ashes."

Sinestro raised an eyebrow. "Not you?"

"No, not me. Good heavens, no. I've no desire to rule any world, least of all this one. I couldn't do it, anyway. It would take something like your corps to accomplish that. And that's what I mean. I mean to essentially give you control of this planet."

"For a price."

"For a price."

"And that price is?"

The man smiled a most unpleasant smile. "I want one of those rings."

…..

Barbara had showered, and put on fresh clothes. Dawn would be breaking soon; she'd made Ragnar promise to wait for her in the main rec area. Obviously, they had some things to talk about.

 _Hope I'm up for this,_ she thought. Psychology wasn't her specialty, and this could easily fall under the category of xenopsychology, but…

He was sitting at the table behind the couch, staring morosely at a cup of hot chocolate. He'd never gotten a taste for coffee; alien taste buds. But hot cocoa was okay. He'd brought her one.

She sat down beside him, conscious of the fact that they didn't have very long. Nightwing would be up soon, and the others would begin stirring, but, aside from a private room, there really wasn't any other place to conduct this conversation. "Okay, Ragnar, let's take it from the top. How long have you had…dreams like that?"

"Actually, for quite some time now. Back when I first joined you, such dreams troubled me. I…" He stopped, for a moment, then rallied and went on. "I told M'gann about them. She probed my mind, a little, but could find no reason for them. We assumed it had something to do with my connection with this universe's Doomsday monster, and the psychic trap my parents had placed in me, to stop it.

"But I never heard of the Doomsday monster until it came here, attacked this system. If I had some sort of psychic connection to it, it escaped detection.

"Then, 'our' Doomsday surmised that it might be some connection to Vastator, which we still know little about. Again, there's no evidence. But both were destroyers of worlds…and in both cases, my dreams indicated me as being such a destroyer, as well."

"I see." She sipped the hot cocoa. "And…these dreams give you pleasure?"

"Yes." He looked down at his cup. "I find myself ashamed to be feeling that. But that is what I feel, nonetheless."

"Well, part of that probably is anger, Ragnar. I mean, you've been dealt about one of the harshest deals life has to offer: the girl you love has been taken from you. It's normal to have some inner rage about that. But I hear you saying this has been going on since before you lost Megan."

"That's true."

"You enjoyed those dreams, too?"

"I did." He hitched himself forward, a somewhat nervous reaction, she thought. "Even back on my homeworld, where I grew up, I can think of no reason why I should wish to destroy _everything._ Destroy the predators who menaced me, yes. But not everything! That makes no logical sense!"

"Ragnar…think for a minute. Calm down and just think back. Do you have _any_ memory, any at all, of any intelligent contact before you got that ring? Was there anything? Anything at all?"

He shook his head. "The closest thing would have been my ship's computer. But while it had a voice recognition and response mode, it…it wasn't like what I see on the TV shows and movies. It could only answer questions."

"What did it tell you about your parents?"

"Practically nothing. I asked once, where I'd come from, and it led me to where their bodies were stored. Of course, I asked it more, and it, well, it explained, in its own limited way, about death, the cessation of vital function." Pause. "It never actually said they died in the crash, but I suppose I always assumed that."

"We know they implanted…things, I guess, for lack of a better term, within you. You heal amazingly fast, you're stronger than average…didn't you go to the dentist not long after you first joined up? What was it he said?"

A rueful smile. "He asked me who my previous dentist was. I told him I'd never been to one, and I could tell he did not believe me. He didn't even do anything, said there was no need. No cavities…people actually get cavities?...no plaque buildup, nothing."

Barbara Gordon sipped at her cocoa. Yep, that was what the report said. For someone who'd gone fifteen standard years not even knowing about dental hygiene…but then, whoever his parents were, had evidently gifted him with a fantastically well-equipped body.

But all that was surface material. The mind remained the key factor, and Batgirl had hunch Ragnar's mind, too, was the beneficiary of someone's superscience.

What improvements might someone who'd mastered the humanoid genome give to one's offspring? Knowing they'd not be around, it made logical sense to give him every conceivable advantage they could. But how could a desire to destroy fit in with that?

Of course, there was the "Doomsday model," as some had come to calling it, referring to the beast Bertron had created. The survival reflex was tied into an innate desire to remove all threats to it, wipe out all life. No life, no threats. Of course, it wasn't quite that simple, but…

And she wondered. "Their" Doomsday had evidently been the product of one whose genius rivaled, and quite possibly surpassed, even Bertron's. Bertran, whoever she'd been, had managed to bring the genetic experiment they all called Doomsday to completion, granting her "son" not only an unsurpassed body, but also a keen mind as well. _I wish we'd known her._ "Somewhere, someway, there's got to be a connection. I don't know how, but my intuition tells me it has something to do with your ring, and why it changed like it did. From what I know about power rings, they don't just change like that. It just doesn't happen. The rings are tied to certain aspects of the emotional spectrum…say, has anyone had any ideas as to what emotion your ring is connected to?"

"None. Even I don't know. I just know it works, and I know how to work it. But…it's like a reflex. Something I do instinctively."

"The Guardians were no help?"

"They were as mystified as everyone else. But…"

"Yes?"

He rubbed his eyes. Even though he had greater than human stamina, it was limited, and he was tired. Tired, and frustrated. "I received the distinct impression they knew more than they were telling. But it was only a hunch."

 _Standard Guardian MO,_ thought Barbara. She was about to ask him about the conversations he'd had with the mysterious blue beings when Wally zipped into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed from sleep. He was moving slowly, for him: she could actually see him flash from one spot to another. "Hey, guys. Anybody made breakfast yet?"

She turned to Ragnar. "Well, we'll talk some more later. Maybe you should get some rest? You've been up all night."

"Unnecessary." He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, and she saw the weariness vanish from his face. Evidently, he had reserves of energy she'd not suspected.

Wally joined them, a bowl of cereal already halfway eaten by the time he sat down. "Say, Ray. I know this is a sensitive thing an' all, but can't you contact M'gann telepathically? I mean, that wouldn't do any harm, would it?"

Ragnar shook his head. "J'onn J'onnz told me her telepathy is affected, too. Right now, she has to be in line of sight with someone to use her telepathy, and, well. You know."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." The rest of the cereal disappeared like magic, and he poured another bowl. "Uh, you, uhm, okay?"

Ragnar looked at him as though Wally had just sprouted an extra eye. "No." Then he got up and left.

…..

High overhead, Sinestro looked over the planet Earth from behind ring-generated stealth fields.

Lyssa Drak and Arkillo flanked him, side by side. The leader of the Sinestro Corps was carefully considering the offer of the man calling himself Smith. Smith had explained enough of his plan to interest Sinestro, and assured him it would result in the Sinestro Corps essentially being able to safely—and legally, according to the very guidelines the Guardians themselves had laid down—annex the world of Earth. And there wouldn't be a thing anybody could do about it.

Thaal Sinestro wasn't interested in destruction for destruction's sake. Destruction was not his goal. _Con_ struction, the construction of a world, indeed, a universe of order, order brought about by fear, but orderly and functional. It made so much more sense than the Guardians' plans, which seemed to revolve around letting things go until lives were threatened on a planetary scale, and war was imminent. Then they'd step in, with their Green Lanterns, and restore order, but only after matters had gone nearly too far. Or even if they had already gone too far.

To Thaal Sinestro, that was highly immoral and irresponsible behavior.

Humanity, in all its myriad forms, needed guidance. Guidance from above. The only alternative was a mindless flailing about, as each person sought to achieve his, her, or its own ends, and much needless destruction.

So Sinestro sought to use fear to create a world of order, where lives didn't have to be lost. People would still be afraid—it was human nature to be afraid—but they wouldn't have to fear _each other_.

His studies of Earth had revealed the presence of the monster Doomsday, the one from an alternate timeline. What a Corps member he'd make! But even more importantly, his existence spoke of possibilities, possibilities a sharp, well-informed, strategically oriented mind could make use of.

"Master?"

"Yes?"

"You seem lost in deliberation."

Sinestro smiled a smile that made Lyssa Drak nervous, though she was careful not to show it, either in her voice or expression. "I am never lost, my archivist. But I am pondering this proposed arrangement.

"You notice, this Mr. Smith stated that he wants a yellow ring for his involvement in this matter, in return for which he proposes to essentially hand over governorship of this planet. It would then belong to us, to the Corps." The tentative but binding agreement they'd had with the Guardians was that any world that willingly and knowingly accepted Sinestro's rulership should be allowed to do so, but only after its people knew what they were getting into. The people could not be allowed to be deceived by the Sinestro Corps; they had to know the Corps' aims and methods. If they still wished inclusion in the Sinestro Corps' sphere of influence, then that decision would go unchallenged.

But nobody said anything about the _way_ in which those same people might be…persuaded to accept Sinestro's "help."

"My Lord," Arkillo had come up beside him on the other side, "Surely you cannot be thinking about accepting this man, this _human_ , into the Corps! I can tell he is untrustworthy! He would betray us in a heartbeat!"

"Of course he would. And yet, Arkillo, take note: not once did he actually ask to _join the Corps._ No, he stated his price was, to receive a power ring. And that…might could be arranged.

"That is, providing it suits _my_ purposes."

…..

"You wanted to see me, Ragnar?" Artemis entered the laboratory where Ragnar and Doomsday were working. They'd been spending a great deal of time in the lab, lately.

"Yes, Artemis, I did. You remember, a while back, I asked to borrow one of your arrows?"

"Yeah, you said you wanted to try something, something about some way of replenishing them in the field?"

"Yes. I believe Doomsday and I might be on the track to doing so. Here." He led her over to a table, set in front of a small target range. There were two arrows on the table. "Here. See if you can tell which arrow is the one you loaned me."

Artemis picked them up. They both felt the same, had the same balance, heft, and the braille markings around the nock, that told her which arrow was which, were identical. "Hm. I can't tell any difference. Here, let me try 'em out." Swiftly, she nocked the first arrow, and sent it downrange towards the target, spearing the bull's-eye perfectly. Then the second arrow; it, too, went right through the center of the target. "Well, I'd say if your aim was to develop a way to copy my arrows, you've succeeded."

"We've done more than that," said Doomsday. "You know how you have to watch your arrow supply in an extended fight, to make sure you don't run out? Here." He hefted a quiver, just like the one she normally carried, with several copies of her arrows in them. "Put this on, and shoot at the target, just like you normally do."

Puzzled, she donned the quiver, settling it in across her back. She drew one arrow, sent it downrange, then another, then another…

After about the fifth arrow, it occurred to her, there hadn't been that many arrows in the quiver when she'd picked it up. Curious, she looked around.

There were still five arrows in the quiver. "Okay, how'd you guys do that?"

"It's a combination of nanotechnology and matter/energy conversion. Basically, when the quiver senses you draw an arrow, it immediately produces an exact copy of that arrow, generated from pure energy."

She took the quiver off and looked at it, admiringly. "Wow. That's…really something, guys." Previously, she'd had to make her arrows by hand, and each one had to be handcrafted, to make sure they were perfectly balanced. Now Ragnar and Doomsday had automated the process. "Good deal. But…to make a whole arrow, from energy, would require a huge amount of energy, wouldn't it? I mean, it would be the equivalent of converting one of these arrows into energy, and that would produce enough energy to blow up half the state. So this is the reverse of that process. Where's the energy coming from? What's the power source?"

Ragnar and Doomsday looked at each other. "It, uh, comes from nature," Ragnar said, evasively.

"Comes from nature. Ragnar, I hope you two didn't shoehorn a whole nuclear reactor into this quiver." She held the magic quiver at arms' length, as though it might suddenly sprout atomic-powered iron bear-trap jaws and close on her.

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that. That wouldn't produce enough energy, anyway."

"Right," said Doomsday, "That'd be irresponsible."

"Soooo…..what'd you two do?" _I think I'm in the company of a couple of genuine mad scientists_ _here_. As if to confirm her suspicions, she caught a glimpse of _Mad Science Weekly_ , peeking out from underneath the papers on a nearby table.

Ragnar took the quiver. "In its current configuration, it utilizes a quantum black hole."

"A WHAT!"

"A very small one. Only massing about as much as, say, a baseball. But held and stabilized within its own subatomic event horizon by a series of overlapping force-fields. The good thing about such singularities is, you can shove mass into them, then extract that mass as needed. Something like the ultimate in battery packs."

"A black hole?! Are you crazy?! Don't answer that! I can't go around with a black hole strapped on my back!"

"It's perfectly safe, Artemis. The force-fields serve to not only stabilize the quantum singularity, but also to extract the mass-energy when needed. Of course, like everything, there is a limit, but right now, the singularity holds enough mass to construct several hundred arrows. Running out of arrows won't be a problem for you anymore."

She looked at them, softening. They were both so sincere…Ragnar, looking for a way to take his mind off of Megan, and Doomsday, trying to fit in, here on this strange and occasionally hostile new world. "Well, I…don't know. I guess…it's worth a try. Not really comfortable with this whole black hole thing, but I take it you've tested it out extensively…"

"Oh, yes! And, and it checked out in every test we ran. Also, we can use this same system to produce copy devices for the others, such as Nightwing's throwing weapons, as well."

"Okay, then. But," and here she smiled a crooked smile at them, "if I should feel myself about to get sucked into this mini-black hole, I'm dragging you two in with me."

…..

It had been two nights since Sinestro's encounter with the man calling himself Smith. The three yellow lanterns landed, as per their original agreement, upon the roof of the building where they'd first met him. He was waiting for them. "Well? Do we have a deal?"

"We do. Stretch forth your hand." Smith extended his right hand, and Sinestro gestured.

A field of solid yellow light materialized from the universal emotional substrate, wrapping its way around Smith's finger. In less than a second, Smith was wearing a yellow power ring.

"Alright," said Sinestro, crossing his arms. "I've fulfilled my part of our bargain. Now…."

"Yes, now…and you'll be surprised how easy it is to destroy the world. But here's my plan…."

 _To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7: Pain

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 7

Pain

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps_

 _Please read and review!_

Back at Mt. Justice, Ragnar suddenly jerked awake from a deep slumber, his hand going automatically to his head. What? What had…?

Oh. Yes. His dream. His usual dream. Absently he rubbed the back of his hand, feeling a subtle itch there.

It was the same as before. Death, destruction, fire…everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Nowhere, even with the senses his ring afforded him, could he sense any life, not even any microbial life. What could possibly produce that effect?

And, over and above it all, a golden clad figure laughing madly.

 _Who are you?_ –he'd wanted to scream, but he already knew the answer.

He sat up, rubbing his forehead, got up and went into the bathroom. Turned the shower on full force, and stepped into the water stream. Leaned against the wall underneath the shower nozzle.

These dreams had been coming on more and more frequently. He'd told Batgirl—Barbara Gordon—about them, and of course, Nightwing, but so far, the others didn't know anything was really wrong, though a couple of them, he suspected, were under the illusion that he was suffering from sleep disturbances.

Well. He was, sort of.

He hadn't even told Doomsday about it, and he'd found himself confiding in the monster more and more. They had a lot in common, and not just genetically. Both had spent the vast majority of their lives without any parental figure, though Doomsday did have memories of his "mother," the alien genius Bertran, who had apparently been the victim of a raid by space pirates. Ragnar was glad his alien "brother" at least had that. What few memories he had of his parents were either of the recorded files they'd uncovered back on his ship, or of the Black Lanterns pretending to be them.

He could do quite well without those last memories, thank you.

Lost in his own thoughts, he leaned against the force of the shower. Was it just his imagination, or did he seem…. _bigger_ …now than before? Not that any of that really mat-*

And suddenly, a pair of slim, green feminine arms encircled him from behind. He could feel a soft, warm female form pressed up against him from behind, feel a most welcome sensation of a head resting on his back. He could feel someone's wet hair tickling his spine, her breath against his back….

"No," he groaned. "You…you _cannot_ be here. This…this is a dream. I'm not awake yet, not fully awake, that's all. You…you cannot be real." He fought the urge to turn around, to lose himself in the moment. Oh, how he longed to. How he so very much longed to.

Whoever, whatever it was behind him made no reply, but only pressed in closer, her hands moving down his body. He closed his eyes, more in a refusal to accept what was happening that a desire not to see. He gritted his teeth in determination. "Go away," he whispered. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his entire life.

Was that the softest hint of a sigh from behind him? Was it even a sound at all, or just an echo of the water falling around him? He didn't know. But the illusion faded away, leaving him standing in the shower, alone. More alone than he'd ever been.

He fell to his knees there in the tub, the tears springing out automatically, washing down the drain along with the shower water. Wasn't it enough that he'd lost her, that he'd lost every reason he'd ever had to live in the first place? Did his mind have to torment him with images of her, too?

Completely unnoticed, the small bony spurs protruding from the backs of his knuckles disappeared, retracting back underneath his blue skin…

The enigmatic Mr. Smith's plan was simple, Sinestro thought. So simple it had been attempted numerous times, across the stars. With varying degrees of success.

A previously uncharted asteroid was on a collision course for Earth. Normally, Earth's defenders, the Justice League and/or the Green Lantern Corps would, of course, intercept and either divert or destroy the asteroid outright. But this time, they were not to know about its approach. Sinestro's Corps had been tasked with the job of concealing it from the League's detection systems. This was no small feat, in itself.

But it was not the intention to simply let the asteroid impact Earth. No, that would have destroyed the world, and to no benefit to anyone. No, the Corps was to keep its existence a secret until it was basically too late to stop, at least, with no harm to the planet below, at which point, the illusion would be dropped, and all would see death coming from the sky.

"But Master," began Arkillo, "I do not understand how this will benefit the Corps! What purpose will it serve? It is true it will produce great fear, but to what end?"

Sinestro considered. There might be a tactical advantage to allowing Arkillo in on his though processes. To a degree. "It is really very simple. When the people of Earth see the asteroid approaching, they will naturally look to their 'saviors,' the Justice League, to once again rescue them from certain peril. But we are to see to it that the Justice League has…other problems, complications, shall we say, that will…negatively affect their ability to ride to the rescue. And so, the people of Earth will need new saviors." He turned to his compatriots. "Us. When the Justice League is shown to be unable to protect them, they will have no place else to turn. They will accept our rulership gladly."

Lyssa Drak was thoughtful. "Er. Master? It…it seems…wanting, somehow. May I speak freely?"

Sinestro smiled. Now was the time when they'd have questions, and he, of course, had answers. Sort of. "Of course."

She turned to face him fully, drifting there in space, her ink-black hair floating weightlessly in space behind her. "It seems…too _simple,_ somehow. There are too many factors not under our control. And how does this profit this human Smith?"

Sinestro considered, stroking his chin, his eyes on the distant planet. "You are correct, Lyssa Drak. It _is_ too simple. That is one reason I agreed to it. Simple plans can be easily redirected to suit one's own ends.

"As for how it benefits our 'ally,' he clearly intends to reap the benefits of the empowerment of fear, combined with his new association with our Corps. Our victory will be his. He will, in short, be the Sinestro Corps representative for sector 2814, and therefore rule by proxy.

"At least, that's what he thinks."

…

Stacey McAllister was closing up shop for what she was at least felt like the millionth time, when something made her turn around. All around her, the mall shops were closing, the kiosks already closed, merchandise moved out, and cabinets locked, security systems activated. Usually, the mall wasn't that crowded this late at night, except for those attending movies, or the late night dinner crowd.

But something told her she was being watched, something ancient. With a tingling sensation on the back of her neck, she carefully turned around…

Standing across the mall was a young boy, with sandy-blond hair, wearing a plain pullover shirt and jeans. Staring right at her. He looked to be about nine or so.

What was the kid doing here, this late? There were no adults near him, nor was he close by any shops where they might have ducked into. And it was a little unnerving to see how he just _stared_ at her, unblinking. Who could he be?

Well, no matter. She'd continue locking up, then see if she could find his parents. Barring that, all she knew to do was take him to the local police station, see if anyone had turned in a report…and she'd heard nothing about an Amber alert…

But when she turned back, the strange boy was gone. As if he'd never been.

…..

"A- _hem._ " Nightwing looked up. Cassie Sandsmark, aka Wonder Girl, was standing at over his desk, arms folded across her chest, and a distinct frown on her lovely face. "Yes, Cassie? Something I can do for you?"

"Not for me. Ragnar. Or do you mean to seriously tell me, you haven't noticed anything…unusual about him lately?"

Nightwing rubbed his eyes. "Well, he's been training a lot. But that's to be expected. And, I suppose the extra training helps keep his mind of M'gann." He shrugged. "He's got some things to work through. Why?"

"'Got some things to work through'? Dick, are you _serious?_ "

He was completely puzzled. What could she mean? "Well, I mean, yes. I know he's going through a lot right now-*"

" _That's_ an understatement!"

"—But that's to be expected. I've been in touch with J'onn, and he seems to think it's only a matter of time until M'gann gets a handle on this implanted meme. And you know M'gann; she's no lightweight when it comes to mental power. Plus there's the Martian mystics to help her…in the meantime, the only thing we can do is try to keep him busy."

She leaned forward, placing her hands on his desk, fingers pointing in opposite directions, her blond hair falling around her face. "I can't believe the human race made it as far as it did, if this is an example of how you men look at problems like these."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm _talking about_ the guy basically falling apart right in front of your eyes! He's up all hours, training, he hardly ever communicates with anyone, he's not eating properly—hell, he's not eating at all. The last time I saw him actually take a bite of anything was when he shook the last of a bag of chips into his mouth. Wally had gotten to 'em first, so he didn't get much, but haven't you noticed he doesn't even take any food to his room? Like, _ever?_ "

Nightwing leaned back in his seat and looked up at her. Yes, he'd noticed these things, but…."Cassie, maybe it'd make things easier if you just came out and told me exactly what you expect me to do about it. We know he's suffering. We know he misses M'gann. So do we all, but especially him. Okay, no argument there. But," and here he spread his hands, "there's only so much we can actually _do._ I can't wave a magic nun-chuck or something and suddenly make M'gann all better. I wish I could. I would've done that a long time ago. So, tell me, what do you suggest I _do?_ "

"Well, for starters-*" But she was interrupted by an urgent signal from the Watchtower. "Excuse me, Wonder Girl, but I have to take this."

"Alright. But we are _not_ finished." She turned and left.

…..

Cassie Sandsmark went from Nightwing's desk straight to the small kitchenette. She was surprised to see Ragnar there, in full uniform, preparing a sandwich. Well. That was good news. Maybe…maybe…

"Hey, Ray," she greeted him, using the nickname they'd come to call him by. "Been a while."

"Yes." This was spoken in a monotone, as though his mind were completely elsewhere.

 _That's because it is,_ Wonder Girl reminded herself. She glanced at the sandwich he was making. "Bologna?"

"I believe that is what it is called." When he'd first come to Earth, he'd had a hard time with some foods humans took for granted. Aqualad, who'd checked him out medically, had said something about differing taste buds, differing chemical receptors…but just some _ideas_ took some getting used to. Like why would anyone eat something called "liver worst" anyway? Or name a food that, to begin with?

Fortunately, the origins of most food names were sufficiently obscure so as not to cause him any undue alarm.

Shrug. "Some people like it." _Get him to talking. Say something, say anything._ Every single one of them had already told the Gold Lantern that, anytime he felt like talking, they were more than willing to listen. But he had not availed himself of that opportunity, not even with Doomsday.

Growing up like he had, in such complete isolation, he'd never learned how to depend on others, or even that he could. Cassie could barely grasp such an upbringing, if you wanted to call it that. Did he even know _how_ to talk to others?

She came up alongside him, as he spread the sandwich spread over the meat, and placed a hand on his shoulder pads. Odd; she'd never actually touched him before, but she hadn't realized he was this _solid._ Those pads didn't look to be all that thick, but evidently they were. And it might've been just her imagination, but it seemed like he stiffened, slightly, beneath her touch. "Look, Ray. I can tell you're hurting. But it's going to get better." She knew she was saying more than she should, but she could only imagine how she might feel in a case like this. Even if M'gann did succeed in breaking whatever technological spell Bertron had placed on her, there was no guarantee they'd ever be able to go back to being a couple again. Many burgeoning relationships had been nuked by far less.

Or, she reminded herself, this might be just the thing they both needed. She'd always had a sneaking suspicion that M'gann was maybe just a little too careful in her relationships, stemming, no doubt, from the simple fact that things seldom worked out like an American sitcom.

"I appreciate what you are trying to do, Cassandra." That was pretty much what he'd told them all, every time any of them had tried to console him. She'd been prepared to jump all over Nightwing for not doing something about Ragnar's condition, but, truth was, she wasn't altogether too sure, herself.

"Well, I-*" Just then, Nightwing signaled the entire Team. "Everybody, report to the briefing room, STAT."

….

"Alright, here's what we have. J'onn just sent me a file on ten corpses the police found over by the tracks. No ID on them, but seven of them were known runaways, on a couple of lists. The rest we aren't sure about, but they fit the same pattern: young people, good homes, family problems, you know.

"As to what killed them…we don't have that much information. However, there's indication that they were given some sort of chemical treatment that spiked their limbic system fantastically. Post-mortems indicated major stress, enormously increased blood pressure, and a number of chemical markers consistent with fear. In short, they basically died of fright.

"But we don't know why. That's our job. Three of them, as you'll see in the files I've given you, have some connection with something called the Church Of New Enlightenment, a cult that's developed a following among disaffected young people."

"You think this cult could've killed them?" Batgirl was thoughtful. It certainly wouldn't be the first time….

"I think there's a high probability. This wasn't a small-caliber operation. The procedure necessary to so explode their nervous systems wouldn't be one the average street thug would have access to. And there's some evidence this Church has some serious financial backing.

"But what got the League's attention was, that Hal Jordan has been apprised of Sinestro Corps activity in this area. And, as you know, those guys are fueled by fear. So there could easily be a connection."

"Could the yellow lanterns be responsible?"

Nightwing shook his head. "Unlikely. The members of Sinestro's corps don't rely on chemical means to produce fear; they don't have to. Most of them don't even need their rings. They were chosen because they were _already_ really good at making others afraid of them."

"Even as I was, I suppose." Ragnar's voice was low, but it carried.

"That brings me to my next point. Ragnar, you've been a yellow lantern. Can you see a connection here?"

"Only the obvious one. Someone used the fear of these murdered young people to send some sort of signal to these corps members. Possibly to get their attention." He shrugged. "It…would make a certain kind of sense. Yellow rings are extremely sensitive to fear, as you know. Only a natural empath would be equivalently affected."

"That's exactly the conclusion I came to. Which means that someone tried—we have to presume, successfully—to signal, to communicate with the Sinestro Corps members in this area. The question remains: why?"

Superboy spoke up. "Sinestro's a conqueror, pure and simple. And he's cunning. If he's here, it's a safe bet he's looking for weak spots, something he can exploit."

"Again, the exact conclusion I was driven to. So here's our task: we are to infiltrate this 'Church of New Enlightenment,' and find out more about it. I doubt we'll find enough to result in any legal action, but perhaps we can uncover a connection between them and Sinestro.

"For make no mistake: it's Sinestro himself we're dealing with. His underlings don't even go to the restroom without his say-so. If they're active in this solar system, he's either here, in person, himself, or he's orchestrating the whole puppet show from a distance.

"Find the connection, and we'll find him."

…..

Rose had just gotten to sleep when her communicator went off. Grumbling, she picked it up. Nightwing? Calling at this hour? "Yeah, 'Wing?"

" _Rose, are you still up for helping us out?"_

"Helping you out? Don't tell me you're short-handed."

" _We are. If you're still game, we could use you. I can't tell you what's been going on over this line, but if you'll report in-*"_

"Whoa. Wait. 'Report in'? The last time I 'reported in', that blond bitch backhanded me across the room."

" _A misunderstanding. But you'll be well compensated for your time and trouble, of course. But we need your skills, particularly your intelligence and undercover recon skills. Again, I'll have to tell you why when you get here-*"_

"Seem pretty sure of yourself. 'When I get there.' Not 'if.'"

" _C'mon, Rose. I know we've had our differences in the past, but we really do need you."_

Rose Wilson hesitated. Her last time with the Team hadn't been a day at the beach, but she had told Nightwing to let her know if they needed her. And the 'Con was over, so there'd be no conflict there…. "What the hell. I'm in. When do you need me?"

…

"Wait. So…you're telling me somebody messed with Little Miss—uh, I mean, M'gann's _mind?_ " Rose Wilson was about as tough as they came, but she had had her own experiences with psychological manipulation, and she wouldn't wish that on anybody.

"Yes. So now, whenever she sees Ragnar—whom I'll introduce you to, shortly—she feels an overpowering sense of horror. It's a conditioned response, an implanted meme, we think. But…well, I don't think I have to tell you how it's affected their relationship."

"God. I can only imagine." Two high school kids…was nothing sacred, anymore?

"Oh, and Rose, this is Ragnar Rok, our newest member. He's a Gold Lantern." Nightwing gestured to Ragnar, who'd come up silently.

Rose looked him over. Big guy, pretty powerfully muscled looking. The gold uniform, which she knew to be a product of his ring, contrasted sharply with his sky-blue skin and thick black hair. _Hm. I can see why M'gann would be attracted._ "I'm Rose Wilson. I go by Ravager. Nightwing, here, has been telling me about your recent…er, troubles."

"Yes. That is certainly a good way of putting it." And Rose Wilson recognized something that even Dick hadn't, not yet: this guy was a time bomb. He was keeping his emotions in, not letting them even be seen on the surface…she could almost feel the pressure building.

 _Change the subject._ "So. _Gold_ Lantern, is it? I've never heard of one."

"I appear to be the only one, at least thus far."

"Okay," Dick said, drawing their attention away from each other, "I'll fill in the others on the plan shortly, but right now, I need you two to come with me." He led them to one of the underground meeting rooms. Rose looked about for Doomsday. Last she'd heard, he was still here. Another individual she had problems with.

Correction: another individual who had problems with _her._

Nightwing led them to a table with two dossiers lying on it. "Here's the plan. I need you two to go undercover and infiltrate this 'Church of New Enlightenment.' See what you can learn about it, what its aims and goals are, everything you can find out. In particular, I need you to be on the lookout for any connection to the Sinestro Corps, or, for that matter, any off-world agency of any kind. We had a rash of kidnappings a while back; that seems to've slacked off, but there could, conceivably, be a connection. Rose, I know you're a master of disguise. Ray, you can use your ring to change your appearance, right? Good. So…open these files, and let's get busy."

The files were sketchy at best. Evidently, the Church of New Enlightenment had started back during the "Y2K" scare a few years ago, announcing an end to the world, and admonishing everyone to prepare themselves for the End Times. They were peculiar for their odd lack of reliance on faith so much as espousing fear as a means of preparing oneself for the worst. Ragnar found this to be a disturbingly familiar chain of thought.  
"So this Smith guy…he's like, the pastor? Priest?"

"Uncertain as to what his actual rank is called. He refers to himself as 'Brother Smith,' and his followers, those in the hierarchy refer to themselves as 'Brother—or Sister-This or That.' But none of them have any standing with any organized religion. No ties to any Christian denomination, Muslim, Judaic, Buddhist…nothing. No affiliation with any of them. There's not even any affiliation with any of the right-wing extremist or survivalist factions that were so popular back during the Y2K thing. It appears to be a complete stand-alone organization. Because it's incorporated as a church, the amount of actual information available isn't as much as it might would normally be. But one thing I can tell you: it definitely has some serious funding. I've been trying to follow the money trail, but whoever's responsible is very good at hiding themselves."

"Alright." Rose looked over the skimpy reports. "So…just how do we go about infiltrating this thing?"

"Leave that to me. Here's where you two need to be in a certain place at a certain time, in disguise. I'll spread word that two young runaways have come to town, brother and sister, seeking 'enlightenment.'" He gave them some papers, false IDs, and maps. "You'll be staying at this seedy downtown hotel, on the run from the law. I put your age, Rose, as sixteen. Evidently, that's the age this group seeks to recruit."

"Good." Rose nodded in approval. It wasn't that much removed from her actual age, anyway. And Ragnar, she guessed, wouldn't even need that…. "So…you want us staying at this cheap dive?"

"Yes. You are, of course, strapped for cash, so one room. And, of course-*"

"Wait. _One_ room?"

Nightwing hesitated, then led her over by one corner of the room, while Ragnar kept studying his dossier. "Trust me, Rose. It won't be an issue."

….

 _He hit the nail on the head there,_ thought Rose Wilson, now going by the name of Kimberly DeMato. She and Ragnar had checked into the motel Nightwing had reserved for them yesterday with little more than the clothes on their backs, a condition consistent with the cover story of being two runaways from a wealthy family, trying to "find themselves" here in California. At first, Rose had been a bit uncertain about sharing a room with a guy she didn't even know, but Ragnar had displayed a complete lack of interest in her, aside from that which was purely work related. _He has it bad for M'gann,_ thought Rose. Even though she didn't like the Martian girl, she could sympathize with what she was going through. To have your brain hijacked like that…

There was only one bed in the room, but Ragnar had already taken the couch, without comment. It barely fit him. Right now, he was hanging up some of his Earth clothes on the hotel's hanger. Neither of them had, of course, brought any of the dossier materials with them; the risk of being found having such was too great for a mission this deep-cover.

Rose sat by the vanity, checking her appearance in the mirror. She'd dyed her hair to a kind of stringy brown, arrayed into dreads. Her false eye, the bionic eye she used for operations like these, was working perfectly. When she'd first put it in, Ragnar had watched, fascinated. She waited for him to ask her how she'd lost her eye, but he never did. Maybe he just didn't care? Not that it mattered to her.

"So, Ray," she said, going over her appearance in the mirror, "Care to tell me a little bit about yourself? No big if you don't want to, and I understand about, uh, you know. Things. But we do need to know a little about each other, if we're to work together."

He sighed and sat down on the couch. The room's TV didn't work; a condition that displeased neither of them. "I grew up on a deserted planet, in a crashed starship. My parents died when I was a baby, and the ship's computer basically raised me." He proceeded to give her a thumbnail version of his life up until the time when he was cornered by the predators. "And then, a yellow power ring quite literally fell out of the sky to me. It saved my life. I then thought my mission in life was to teach others to use fear to protect themselves, but…I became dissatisfied with that mode of thought. I suppose you might say I got lonely. Lonely for the company of others like me, others with whom I could communicate. My wanderings led me here, and it was here that my power ring… _changed_ , in a way nobody seems to understand. It's no longer a yellow power ring, but a gold one, and functions differently. And so far, nobody knows anything more about it."

"A gold power ring? Huh. That's…different. Can I see?" She came over and sat by him on the couch as he showed her the ring. "Huh. You're right; I've never seen that symbol before. And it just changed, like that? No warning, no nothing?"

"None. The only clue we have is this mysterious entity, Sarah Marshall, who appears to be some sort of cosmic being. But even she's never actually said she changed my ring. She only drew my attention to it, and taught me the correct oath."

Rose sat and thought. "So you lived all by yourself for so long…then you came here. And, and met M'gann?"

"Yes." She could sense him "closing off," emotionally. Okay, sensitive subject. None of her business. "So you've actually been a yellow lantern? That might give us an advantage, if yellow lanterns are involved. How do they think? What do they seek?"

"I was never actually in the Sinestro Corps, you understand. But from what I was able to glean, they seek to rule the universe by fear. Fear of the consequences of opposing them, primarily."

She drew her legs up underneath her. "Yeah, that seems to be their MO." They were silent for a while. "Well, you've been pretty open with me. Guess it's my turn."

"Only if you wish it to be, Rose Wilson. Nightwing briefed me on your father, the supersoldier serum, and…some of your troubles with him. You do not have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Silence. "You still confided in me. And I could tell it wasn't easy for you, Ragnar. So…I will tell you one thing: I kinda envy the way you grew up. At least…at least you weren't made all crazy. I gouged out my own eye." She dropped her head. Now why had she said that? It wasn't work-related.

But he was looking at her steadily. She noticed he had very dark eyes, even with his ring camouflaging him as a nondescript Caucasian male. Very dark, indeed. "Pain encircles you."

Pain? Well, yeah, she guessed it did, but everybody had things they wished they could forget….but that was still a kind of an odd thing to say.

He brought up his right hand, moving up towards her head, slowly, never taking his eyes off her. Something about his gaze seem to almost _hypnotize_ her…

He placed his hand on her head. She was about to protest the unwanted contact when something like a jolt of electricity went through her. She saw her mother raising her as best as she could, her father, Deathstroke the Terminator, trying to mold her into his image, the constant training…and above all, the feeling that she'd never be _good enough_ , somehow…

And, just like that, it all went away. It didn't just disappear, as if it had never been. She could still remember the horrible times, the horrible things she'd done…but it was different, somehow. The memories were still there, but the _pain_ was gone.

And…and there was something else. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, there was another presence, a presence that stood with her, between her and the pain…and would always do so.

He took his hand away, and just like that, the contact was broken. She leaped up from the couch. "What did you just do?" she hissed, halfway in combat stance.

He looked up at her from the couch, honest bewilderment on his face. "I…I don't know."

 _To be continued…._


	8. Chapter 8: Bonds

Young Justice: The Gold Corps, Chapter 8: Bonds

….

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!_

… _._

Chapter 8: Bonds

What would be deep space by most human standards: Sinestro, Arkillo, and Lyssa Drak floated in the emptiness between the planets. Sinestro had given the orders, and, of course, they'd been obeyed. One simply did not disobey an order by Thaal Sinestro.

Lyssa Drak remained calm, as always. But Arkillo visibly fidgeted. Sinestro glanced his way, suppressed a slight smile. Sometimes he derived a certain amount of perverse satisfaction from seeing his underlings squirm. Sometimes it was instructive. "Arkillo." The yellow lantern started upon hearing his name. "I've a question for you."

"Yes, my lord?"

"There is a human saying: if something walks like a duck, and sounds like a duck, and looks like a duck, it very probably is a duck. Would you not agree this is a logical statement?"

Arkillo looked at his master as though he'd lost his mind. "Er. I, I suppose, my lord. Er, what is a 'duck,' anyway?"

"It doesn't matter. The statement is meant to indicate that outward appearance is a strong indicator of probability as to a thing's nature."

"Er…"

"But what if that were not so?"

"I don't understand."

Sinestro rubbed his chin. "A thing may look like something that it is not, agreed?"

Cautiously, "Agreed."

"Then how would you tell it apart? How would you tell the thing from what it appears to be?"

"Er, I don't know…?"

"You would have to test it. Its superficial nature would have to be subjected to a variety of tests. Supposing, in the case of our Earthly duck, you would have to dissect it, take it apart, examine it on a more detailed level than mere physical appearance."

"Ye-es, this much is obvious…" Lyssa Drak floated between them, a slight smile on her face. She'd come to much the same conclusion as Sinestro had.

"Now, take the case of this wielder of the golden light. We know nothing about this light, nor what emotion it is connected to. Would you not say further investigation is in order?"

"Of course."

"Consider further: there are cosmic entities involved. And the Source is rumored to have some effect upon our Gold Lantern, or at least some involvement. How do we go about testing this golden light?"

"Uh…"

"We must, as the human saying goes, 'put him through his paces.' See how he responds in given circumstances. Particularly dangerous ones, for only there will his true power be tested, will we really have any idea as to the force that powers him. That is why I have agreed to this ridiculous Mr. Smith's proposal. Of course he wants to rule the world.

"He simply thinks too small, that's all."

Several light-hours away, behind an asteroid, observing via his ring, Guy Gardner overheard the exchange between Sinestro and his lieutenant, and smiled a feral smile. _Go right ahead, clown. Think you're one step ahead of everybody._

 _This could actually be fun._

…

"Kim DeMato" and "Collin DeMato" had been welcomed into the Church of New Enlightenment's shelter. In a move that surprised Rose, they'd been assigned quarters together. This was not what she'd expected.

Ever since the incident the other night, Rose Wilson had been on her guard around Ragnar. The job required her to work with him, otherwise she would've called it off right then, not because he'd hurt her—he actually hadn't—but because it was _unexpected._ And, if he was to be believed—and for some reason, she did—even _he_ didn't know what had happened.

Rose Wilson, aka Ravager, had known quite a bit of personal pain in her life, only a small part of it physical. The worst injuries are those medical science can never treat, because it can never see them. How well she knew that.

But boy was she ever gonna give Nightwing an earful when she was able to break radio silence. He could've warned her!

Ragnar ( _Collin,_ she reminded herself, unnecessarily; Rose Wilson was far too well trained to make such a blunder as using his real name) was showering off. The staff members who'd showed them in had provided them both with a book each, a book that Rose at first thought was a Bible, but on second glance proved to be some totally unrelated text. She thumbed through it, there in the small room they'd been allotted, reading parts. It didn't look like anything she'd ever seen. It seemed to be composed of bits and pieces of various ancient religious tomes, intermixed with some material she couldn't identify, all leading up to some apocalyptic conclusions.

He came out of the bathroom, already in his pajamas, the plain white blouse and pants combination that he'd checked in with. Rose's own was much the same, but a little more feminine, in keeping with their cover story of being the kids of a well-to-do couple seeking to "find themselves" here in California.

She eyed him appreciatively. Not bad. Not bad at all. He'd used his ring to change his appearance to that of a young Caucasian man, but he'd retained the thick black hair and dark eyes. About the only thing really different about him was his skin color. Rather than the chocolate brown he normally employed for school, this was straight-up vanilla Midwest. Another level of concealment.

He silently came over to his bed, one of two twin beds in the room, pulled down the covers and started to get in. "Penny for 'em," she said. The silence was getting a little thick.

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me." He refused to meet her gaze.

She sighed. Okay, she'd said some things. Rose knew she had a temper, and sometimes it got the better of her. "Well, that was then, this is now. Besides, I don't think you meant…it…in any hurtful way." He shook his head, still unsure as what he'd actually done. It had only happened once before, and he still couldn't figure it out. "Now, if you'd, like, _assaulted_ me, or something, well, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because one or both of us would be dead, but I don't-*"

"I would never strike you, Kim," he replied quickly. Points, she thought: he remembered to use her "cover" name.

"That's not what I meant. Look. Until you get a better handle on modern English usage, maybe you'd better let me do most of the talking, okay? You play the big dumb kid brother who always does what big sissy says. Just…play along with that, 'kay?" He nodded. She had already gone over the room as best as she could with no tools. There were either no bugs in the room or else they were more sophisticated than she could detect.

"As you wish, Kim."

The next morning: orientation for new members was held in the main dining hall. Brother Smith took the podium and greeted them warmly. "I know that many of you are here seeking answers. I've answers to give. But it will require patience, on both our parts. You are now within my realm of responsibility; I am responsible for you. So you will be required to do certain things, to behave in certain ways that you are not accustomed to. But that's part of the search for enlightenment, after all.

"First, there are the obvious rules: no fighting, no stealing, no foul language. I realize that today's youth has their own patois, but you are here now, and the first rite of passage for any step towards enlightenment is whether or not you are willing to change your old ways. If you aren't, the same doors you came in will let you out. They're not locked. Leave now.

"But that's another thing: you must make a commitment to being here, to change. You cannot simply come and go as you will. You can out there, but if you choose to leave, you cannot come back. Those aren't revolving doors.

"What we expect from you is commitment. Commitment to change. What you can expect from us is also commitment…and support. Change is never easy. In many cases, it is beyond the power of a single individual to accomplish. That's why this mission was founded: to support those who want to change.

"Another thing we expect from you is study. You are to study the Book you've been given. Everything here is geared around that. How far you advance in this organization will depend on two things: your own commitment, and your willingness to study. Those two things are non-negotiable.

"So. With that, I'll let you get back to your studies. For make no mistake: this sorry world _is_ coming to an end, and sooner than most of you suspect. But every ending is also a beginning.

"Will you be part of it? Or will you be left out?"

…

Rose and Ragnar decorated their own mutual room with the stock materials Nightwing had provided: grainy photos, a few keepsakes. Some of the pictures depicted a younger version of "Kim" and "Collin" together with people who resembled them, and so could be family. Rose wondered about their being assigned a single room; it was quite possible that the powers-that-be figured rooming her with her "brother" was a safe enough bet…and if they weren't really brother and sister, well, this might be a good way of finding out.

She still had a bit of discomfort about being in such close quarters with Ragnar. It wasn't just that he was, yes, okay, attractive. It was that he was, in at least one important regard, an unknown. He'd demonstrated an ability that he couldn't account for, and wasn't sure he could control.

And she could still feel him, somehow, around the edges of her mind. At first, she'd demanded he get out, but he'd protested that he had no telepathic ability. He had no clue what his mental presence was doing in her head either. "So what was your take, today, on what Brother Smith said?" she asked, that night, as they readied for bed.

"Uncertain. He evidently believes—with strong conviction—that the world hasn't long to live. He seems to expect some sort of social collapse rather than an actual physical ending."

She nodded. "My sentiments, exactly. And did you catch that, when he said that 'how far you advance' thing? So evidently, there are levels of involvement here, something like a paramilitary, or even a military situation. I wonder," she bit her lip, "I wonder if he's not trying to put together his own army, his own police force, to take over when the regular ones go the way of the dodo bird. That would…make sense. You?"

"Yes. My thoughts exactly. But, Kim, there is one thing I noticed about him."

"Spill."

"He uses fear. I used to think that I was to teach fear to others so they wouldn't die…but he uses the fear of others. But how, I am not exactly certain."

"Standard yellow lantern tactics. Sinestro would be proud."

"Something else. He is dangerous, Kim. Very dangerous."

…..

He walked, as he'd walked so far for so long. After a time, the walking itself became a kind of occupation.

But he was here because his senses had told him that his ancient foe had resurfaced here in this new, strange world, a world that seemed so ripe for him, a world for which he'd no doubt waited, all these centuries. And he would find his enemy. And this time, only one of them would continue to walk the night.

…..

Rose and Ragnar attended their first "instructional" meeting the next morning. It mostly consisted of Brother Smith reading from the book he'd supplied them with, emphasizing the apocalyptic elements, how every major religion on Earth had some prophecy about the end of the world. "Doesn't it make sense," he asked, "that, if EVERYbody is convinced of a thing, that there must be something to it? The ancient Norse men, the Greeks and Romans, the Mayans, Christianity…they all have this in common. The details differ, but the end result is the same: the world will end. The ancients conceived it as being the literal end of the world, but the planet itself may not be so much in jeopardy, as _human society, as it currently is_ , is facing an expiration date. One that's coming." He paused for effect. "Which side do you want to be on?"

Lunch: Ragnar and Rose got their trays and sat at a long table with the other students of the Church of New Enlightenment. Rose had deliberately "uglified" herself, to some degree, applying makeup so as to give herself the appearance of someone a lot paler and less healthy. This grated on her personal vanity a bit, but it was required for undercover work.

"Hey," said one of the boys, one of a group sitting next to her. "Cutie. You've just now arrived, haven't you?"

' _Cutie'? Okay, warning flag._ "Yes," she responded in a meek voice, in keeping with her character: a runaway in a strange environment, still trying to orient herself.

"I'm Adam. I'm one of the guys in charge around here." He paused, eyeing her up and down, obviously expecting her to be impressed with his statement. There had been nothing Rose could do about her figure, except to wear baggy clothing. "How about I show you around, show you how things work around here?" His words were innocent enough, but she could easily read what he wasn't actually putting into words.

"I…I have to study. And, and, I can't leave my brother here," she nodded to Ragnar, who'd finished his soup and was following the conversation, but without saying anything. "He's…well, sometimes he needs help."

"Hey, we all need help sometimes. And he'll be okay for a couple of hours. It won't take long." He turned and grinned at his comrades. "Trust me. You can come help me."

Ragnar spoke up for the first time. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"'Scuze me, was I talkin' to you? I'm talking to your sister, dude. Stay outta this."

Ragnar got up and rounded the table. Rose sighed. Well, there went the cover story. She'd have to modify it a little. "No," he said.

The boy, still grinning, got up, with several of his colleagues joining him. "So what'cha gonna do, big boy? Take us all on? You know Brother Smith's policy on fighting, don't'cha?"

"Yes." Ragnar cracked his knuckles audibly. "You're about to learn mine."

….

"I'm sorry, Brother Smith," Rose was saying, "My brother has…anger issues. And he's, uh, sorta overprotective, sometimes. I guess I should've mentioned that."

"Hm, yes, you should have." Smith was looking over a report. It hadn't really been much of a fight so much as a massacre: Ragnar had been unstoppable, taking no damage whatsoever. Rose remembered what Dick had said about Ragnar's having some of Doomsday's genetic material…she could believe it. "Still, although I can't condone this action, I have to say, I understand. That boy he fought has been trouble before, propositioning several of the young women here. On the outside, there were even rumors that…well. That's neither here nor there. But he will be dealt with. Severely.

"But I will also have to do something with the two of you. After all, your brother did initiate the actual conflict, regardless of his provocations. I had considered separating the two of you, but I don't think that's a wise idea right now. You seem to have a calming effect on him, and, right now, that's a needed ingredient.

"But there's something I have to know, something I have to ask. And I know of no delicate way of putting this." He looked her full in the face. "Do you and your brother have any kind of… _intimate_ relationship?"

"What?! No! _El barfo!_ " Rose had long ago learned how to fake a blush. "Whatever made you think that?"

Smith shrugged. "You'd be surprised how often it happens. And it's almost never reported, for a variety of reasons. But especially in the demographic you two came from: upper-middle-class parents, gone most of the time, the two of you left there, alone in the house, minimal servant activity, and very little contact with other children. It's not uncommon for some young children to play 'doctor,' or other similar games, with matters getting out of hand before anyone knows it. I know it's not a pleasant subject, but I had to know before I proceeded."

"Proceeded? With what?"

Smith leaned back in his chair. "Your brother has potential. So do you, in a way. I can see the two of you being in positions of responsibility here, in this organization. But first, you've a ways to go to prove yourself. And so does he."

Back in their room, Ragnar had already changed out of the plain clothes he wore every day to another set of equally plain clothes he wore every other day when she came in. "Thanks for almost blowing things," she steamed, hurling her books and notebooks on the bed.

Ragnar said nothing, but just continued to sit at the single desk in the room, intently reading the book they'd been provided with. "I could'a handled it, you know." Still nothing. "What, you think that's the first time a guy's ever come onto me?" Still more nothing. Rose was beginning to get a little nervous about that.

Well, screw him. She had things to do. She went into the bathroom and showered off, putting on clean clothes. The shelter provided some plain but serviceable garments, usually pullover shirts and blue jeans in various shades of "used." Not a shopping mall, but people often donated old clothing to the shelter in the hopes that it would be given to the needy, which it was. Most of the young people who came to the shelter, came from homes across America much like the one in Rose and Ragnar's cover story: upper-middle class. When the kids left, it often never occurred to them that _money_ might _actually be a problem,_ somewhere down the line. So they'd have been unprepared for the harsher realities of life, such as that people don't go around just giving you stuff.

Either that, or they came from maladjusted homes, sometimes horrifically so. Some of the girls were here, having been victimized, molested by their own fathers. Others had "simply" been the subject of some form of abuse, whether verbal, emotional, psychological, or physical. And at some point, they'd decided they just couldn't stand it anymore. But they, too, were often ill-equipped to deal with the reality of life on the streets.

For such people, seeking relief from the pain of life, and nourishment of both body and spirit, the shelter existed. Supposedly.

She sat down and began to read the book they'd been given. Most of it was gibberish, but it all sounded very esoteric and spiritual. Just the sort of thing to appeal to young people looking for meaning in an ever-more confusing world.

Ragnar got up and lay down on his bed, his back to her. She spared him a glance. Why was he so silent? Was he embarrassed about losing control today? "Collin? Do we need to talk?" Rose had never been very good at talking about things like this…whatever "this" was.

"No."

She came over and sat on her bed beside him. "I think maybe we do. Something's bothering you."

He sighed, and, without another word, got up and left the room. _No, we do not._

 _Oh, well,_ she thought. _I tried._

…..

Deep space: Sinestro's team steadily watched the progress of the asteroid. It was following the exact course Smith had said it would; Lyssa Drak wondered how the human had been able to find it, when apparently, no one else had.

Of course, it wasn't moving fast enough to suit either Smith's or Sinestro's time table. So the yellow lanterns had been nudging it, pushing it slightly, altering its vector, all the while careful to maintain the stealth field around it. Lyssa Drak estimated it would impact with the planet in about a week. Or, rather, it would, without interference.

"Everything is going according to schedule, my lord," she reported, with a half bow, a gesture acknowledging Sinestro's superiority over her.

"Good, good. What of the so-called 'heroes' of Earth? Do they suspect?"

"I can detect no signs that they suspect anything out of the ordinary, my lord. Though of course, they are cautious. In that, they are wise."

"Indeed." Sinestro thought for a minute longer. "Did you uncover any more evidence of this young 'Tommy Walker' I charged you with?"

"Only negative evidence, my lord. I checked the school records, and they do not list him. Although I was unable to move about freely without arousing undue suspicion, I could find no one who remembers him. The family he was staying with have no recollection of him." She'd posed as a social worker, out checking up on children displaced by the Blackest Night. But the family Tommy Walker had been staying with…did not remember him.

"Hm." Sinestro stroked his chin. "I think it safe to say, young Mr. Walker, or whatever name he went by, is yet another cosmic entity. That makes two such beings interested in Earth.

"One wonders why."

…..

Mars: M'gann was seated in her lotus position in the middle of her sparse quarters when the door chimed. "Yes?"

The door irised open to reveal Arisia, of the Green Lantern Corps. "Hey, M'gann. I was in the neighborhood and….well, actually, I wasn't quite in the neighborhood, er, that is, unless you count the Milky Way galaxy as 'the neighborhood'…."

M'gann smiled, but there was more than a hint of sadness in it. "I get the picture, Arisia. I'm glad you came by."

Arisia moved into the middle of the room, noting the furnishings: a tiny Martian bed, an uncomfortable looking chair, a diminutive desk…and a restroom. There was no touch of color, no artwork, no sign of personal belongings, none of the personal touches one normally decorates one's home with, when one has stayed there any length of time. The overall feeling was one of austerity and even sterility, as if distractions were either frowned upon or not allowed. "How've you been, M'gann?"

Again a sad smile. "Alright, I guess. The mystics are telling me I'm getting a handle on the implanted meme that beast put in me. I don't know how they know. I don't _feel_ any different." She sighed, sitting there cross-legged. "I, I don't know if…I don't know if any of this will work or not. Not until…how is he, Arisia?"

"Honestly? Look in a mirror, and put his face there. He misses you something terrible, M'gann. But if you needed me to tell you that, the Martian mystics have more work to do than they thought."

M'gann sat silent for a moment, thinking. Then, "I, I wish I could just _see_ him, without, without, you know…"

Arisia gathered her into a quick hug. "You will, soon enough. In the meantime, he's coping. I understand he and Doomsday have become the official Mad Scientists for the Team." And she proceeded to tell the Martian girl all about the micro-bot replicator device Ragnar and Doomsday had concocted for Artemis's quiver. "And they made one for Nightwing's belt, and one for Batgirl, of course. But they couldn't let well enough alone. Last I heard, they were trying to adapt the same process to a bottomless bag of Doritos. Needless to say, Wally was _all for_ that."

M'gann actually smiled a little. She could just see Ragnar hunched over in a lab, somewhere, feverishly working on a cornucopia bag of Doritos, not realizing that it would probably lead to acute indigestion for their fastest team member. But then she sobered. "I can't even use my telepathy, even. Now it's only line of sight. And…" Again, the tears started to flow.

Again, Arisia gathered her up into a hug. "Well, you'll see him soon enough. I believe you will, the Martian mystics believe you will, Hal and John believe you will, and so does Nightwing. They're all waiting for you to come back, and come back _whole._ And you will." M'gann sniffed. Arisia drew a deep breath. _Now or never._ "And….one other thing. Ragnar gave me something to give to you, when I saw you next."

 _Sniff._ "Oh? What?"

The golden Green Lantern very solemnly pulled out a small, velvet covered box, and offered it to M'gann, whose eyes grew three times their normal size when she saw it. "A-arisia? Is…is that…?'

"Go on, M'gann," she said softly. "Open it. Don't be afraid."

Slowly, M'gann opened the box. Inside was an exquisitely-wrought, 1/10th karat "promise" ring, its set designed to look like the Milky Way galaxy, and perfectly shaped to her finger. "Try it on, M'gann. We can have it resized, if we need to."

As if in a dream, M'gann slipped the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. This was not a Martian custom, but it nonetheless was one she was familiar with. _Extremely_ familiar with. "I…I…I" She couldn't even complete the thought in her mind.

"And _Ragnar_ believes you can beat this thing, M'gann. That's why he sent you this. I don't see how he can make it any plainer." Pause. "He wanted to give it to you himself, but, well, you know. But will you accept it, from him, through me?"

Again, the Martian girl broke into tears, leaning against Arisia. But these were tears of joy, the first she'd cried in what seemed like years. "Yes, yes, of _course_ I'll, I'll accept it….I'll accept _him_ , I mean _…_ "

 _So far, so good. One down, one to go,_ thought the golden GL, from behind her psychic shields, as she sat there, holding M'gann. _Now if I can just get Ragnar to play along…._

Earth: Brother Smith had summoned Rose to a private meeting. "It's about your brother. I really believe he has great potential."

"Well, thank you, sir. Uhm, why isn't he here?" She'd been told to clean herself up, and been given some soft, rather luxurious yellow robes to wear. _This is where he hits on me,_ Rose thought, preparing herself. It had all the signs of it.

"In due time. Here. Put this on. A small token of my esteem, and a badge of authority." He presented her with a small bracelet, which snapped around her left wrist easily.

Rose examined that bracelet cautiously. It was ornate, apparently silver or some similar substance, and bore a sigil in the middle of it, one she'd seen hanging on the walls at the Church of New Enlightenment. "Thank you, sir."

"You're most welcome. Now, come with me. We've something to attend to. A rite of passage, so to speak." And he led her into a complex maze of underground passages Rose had previously not suspected existed. Finally, after many twists and turns, they came upon a small room overlooking an amphitheater, lined with rows upon rows of seats. Seats that were currently empty.

He led her to a couple of overstuffed chairs overlooking the amphitheater, and motioned for her to sit down. Her unease rising, Rose did so.

Then a small door down on the main floor was opened, and Ragnar stepped into the enclosed space. At the same time, Rose noticed a cage being trundled in from the other side.

"Mr. DeMato," Brother Smith addressed Ragnar. "You are about to undergo a most crucial test." And Rose saw, with alarm, that there was a black bear in the cage being wheeled in. "Here is your opponent. You must defeat it, and emerge victorious. I warn you that nothing short of death will stop the creature; its trainers have seen to that."

Ragnar looked up at the balcony where Smith and Rose awaited. "I don't fight for your personal amusement."

"Indeed you do not. That is not the point of this endeavor. But should you refuse to fight, or should you lose…

"…then your sister's life is forfeit."

 _To be continued…._


	9. Chapter 9: Deep

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 9: Deep

….

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps._

 _Please read and review!_

… _._

The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 9: Deep

Rose gasped, this development coming as a complete surprise. "No! You, you can't! He'll be killed!"

"Have a little faith, Kim." She started to rip at the bracelet, when he said, "I really wouldn't do that, my dear. That wristband incorporates a small remote detonated explosive. Any unauthorized removal will result in fully authorized removal of your hand." She stopped and glared. He didn't bother to notice, but simply sat back and eyed Ragnar, down below him.

Ragnar eyed him back. "If any harm comes to my sister," he said, his voice low but clearly audible, "I will kill you."

"Then you can best begin seeing to her safety by defeating your opponent, can you not?" The bear, by this time, had spotted him, and rushed at him, jaws slavering.

Its first blow knocked Ragnar down and away. He sprang back to his feet, already in stance. This was his own childhood nightmare come to unwelcome life: the night-hunting predators, unleashed upon him once again.

And he dared not use his ring, this time, for fear of blowing their cover.

Instead, he stood to face the animal. He'd been a child then, and terrified, but he was a child no longer.

He met the bear's charge head-on, jamming his arm into its mouth, even as he avoided its claws raking for his face, his stiffened knuckles driving into its throat…

The battle was drawn-out and brutal, with none of the finesse such as Nightwing or Rose herself might have used. In the end, the bear lay broken, bleeding, and quite dead, its neck broken, with Ragnar bleeding profusely, but unbroken and standing. He looked up at Brother Smith. There was absolutely nothing civilized about his expression.

"Bravo, young man. A superb accomplishment. You've earned an elevated position in my organization this day. You may return to your room, and your sister will join you there."

He stood there in the center of the amphitheater, every inch of him bloody, chest heaving, the light of battle not even close to going out of his eyes. For a moment, Rose was certain he was going to spring upon Brother Smith, with every intention of ripping him apart. But then he mastered himself with an obvious effort, turned, and left by the just-opened door behind him.

….

Rose stormed into the room they shared, slammed the door shut…and brought herself up short, as though she'd run into a wall.

Ragnar stood in the middle of the room, his back to her, his body a bloody mess, his clothes in tatters, but his cuts and wounds healing even as she watched. But what caught her attention was the _way_ he stood: straight enough, but with shoulders and chest heaving. Like someone on the verge of completely losing control.

Of course, she knew what she ought to do: in keeping with her character, she should rush up to him, fling her arms around him, sobbing something about him being alright…but an instinct more ancient than humanity itself cautioned her to move more slowly. "Hey, hey," she said, coming up to him, coming around from the front. Something told her not to approach him from behind right then.

She put her arms around him, carefully, but trying to keep in character. "Hey, calm down, _brother_ , fight's over. C'mon." She rubbed his back, trying to reach him.

He tensed. Rose had been in more battles than anyone except Nightwing, and she could tell the signs of someone getting ready to attack. She held onto him, as she murmured, "shhh. It's okay, it's alright, you did good, just take it easy," even as she positioned herself to use his strength against him, should he attack…

But would she be able to stop him even then? He obviously had considerably greater than human strength, something _else_ Nightwing had curiously failed to mention. Another thing to yell at him about, when this was all over. "C'mon, calm down, it's alright…" She pressed herself up against him, both to deny him leverage, and to keep a reassuring physical contact. "Hey, you saved me. C'mon. It's okay now. All over."

For one brief, awful moment, she was sure he was going to backhand her into the wall, and braced herself as best as she could. But he struggled with himself, and finally she felt the tension easing out of the muscles she was halfway massaging. "K-Kim?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me, it's Kim, now come on back to me, okay? Fight's over. You won. Now, come on. We gotta get you cleaned up. You're a mess." She stripped off the tatters of his clothes, except for his shorts. "Come on." She led him into the small bathroom, which was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. "Here." She turned on the water, full force. "Get in. Then hand me those," she said, gesturing to his ruined boxer shorts. At his hesitation, she said, "Oh, come on, _brother._ I'll hand you a dry pair before you get out. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen your junk before."

"My ju-* I will _never_ understand Ear-*, I mean hu-*, I mean, _your_ idioms." But she breathed easier when he got in, then, with the shower curtain closed, handed the tattered shorts out to her. She immediately dropped them in the garbage, getting him a fresh set of underwear while she was at it. While he showered, she changed her own clothes, and thought.

Was this Brother Smith's grand plan? Take street orphans, build them up into a private army? It had the advantage of simplicity: young, disaffected men and women from all walks of life, connecting in mutual servitude to a common benefactor, one with a clear vision of a bright and glorious future for them all, and an oppressive "establishment" culture to rebel against and isolate themselves from. Cults usually started out like that.

While she waited for him to get out, she pieced together in her mind how such an organization would have to work. This wouldn't be the only city with a "shelter" run by the estimable Brother Smith; there was probably one in every major city. But how could they get the dirt on the guy? At their low level of clearance, neither of them was trusted with a computer terminal….

Rose smiled grimly. There were other ways of getting information. More direct ways.

But for now, she had a partner to take care of. She had to admit, she'd been impressed. Anybody else would be a pile of mangled flesh, but Ragnar was whole and healthy. And that's when she realized the obvious, and cursed herself for not seeing it before, although she didn't see what anybody could have done about it. Now Smith knew Ragnar was more than he appeared. He might not know what the Gold Lantern was, but he had a pretty clear idea what he _wasn't._ He wasn't ordinary.

Had that been the whole purpose of this test, to see if her "brother" was "normal"? If so, he'd failed that test. What other such tests might lie in store for them?

Well, one thing at a time. "Collin? You about done in there?"

"Yes, Kim." He shut the water off, and she handed him the dry underwear, which he donned behind the shower curtain.

"Come on," she said, leading him back into the main room, motioning for him to lie face down on his bed. "And here, take that shirt off, first. Let me get a better look at you."

"You need do nothing, you know," he whispered, his face against the pillow. "I'm almost fully healed now."

 _Physically, yeah,_ she thought. But she'd seen his primal side.

"Right," she hissed back, bending over him, her mouth close to his ear, trying to bring him back to full reality. This wasn't the time or the place for anything less. "and it would be _perfectly normal_ for me, your _loving sister,_ to come in here, see you all torn up like that, knowing what you went through…and do _absolutely nothing_ about it. At least _pretend_ to have a _little_ sense." Jesus God. He was almost as irritating as Doomsday. Maybe it was some kinda outer space gene they both had: the power to piss her off. For about the millionth time, she wished she was working with a professional, someone like Nightwing, or one of the Robins. Even Red Arrow. Anybody but Mork from Ork here. She pushed him face down on the bed and straddled him, feeling for broken bones or dislocated ribs. "Besides, I don't care if you're Superman himself, you could still have injuries. So just be a good _little brother_ and lie there, 'kay?" He said nothing, and she sighed to herself. They were gonna have to get past this him not saying anything business. Or else he _would_ explode. Sooner or later.

Of course, she thought, glumly, that might be Brother Smith's plan.

Since consciousness first formed, all higher organisms had developed an inbuilt urge to survive, to defend themselves and to protect their own. Those instincts are as powerful as they are deep, and not easily tamed. If at all.

He'd just fought a life-or-death battle for her. His own life had been in jeopardy, true, but that had actually been almost of secondary importance. He'd been deliberately goaded into protecting his…partner. His friend. His "sister." Even if there had been no bond at all between them before, there certainly was now. And now, this served to bind them even closer together. How would Brother Smith use that?

Now he was feeling the aftereffects of coming down off that adrenaline high. Even annoyed and frustrated as she was, she had to be careful. So much of him was, after all, an unknown quantity.

She felt all over him, noting the musculature, the placement of spinal column and ribs, the visibly healing cuts and bruises. Okay, so yeah, he was healing. She wished _she_ could heal like that.

It felt…strangely good to keep rubbing her hands over his back like that. Kind of a sensual feeling.

"Kim?"

"Yeah, uhm, turn over." He did so, and she proceeded to examine him from that angle. She lifted and rotated his joints. "No pain there?"

"None."

She felt across his chest, feeling nothing out of the ordinary (but noting, while she did so, how…. _delicious_ that chest and abdomen looked). Her hands explored down, feeling around his ribs. "Any pain there?"

"No, Kim."

"Yeah, well, you must be the luckiest SOB I've ever encountered. I don't think anybody this side of Supes himself could'a just walked away from that with only minor scratches. You aren't even bruised anymore." His bruises had disappeared while she'd been examining him. She moved her hands across his chest. "You must have the devil's own luck." She kept rubbing her hands across his chest, absently. She wasn't even aware she was doing it. It just felt good.

"Kim?"

"Mm?"

"Is something wrong? You seem a little flushed."

"Oh. Uhm, right. Here." She got up off of him, and tossed him his shirt. "Get dressed." She sighed, and came back over and sat down by him once he had. "I don't think either of us is gonna get much sleep tonight."

….

The warrior moved along the corridor, taking care to avoid the security cameras. He easily spotted them, and could have simply interfered with their function, but that would have called attention to a blind spot in the shelter's internal surveillance system.

He did his best to remain inconspicuous, as he knew he'd probably have to kill anyone he encountered. His past experience with his ancient adversary had taught him that, once anyone was accepted as a guard, initiated into the inner circle, they were usually so heavily indoctrinated, so thoroughly brainwashed that naught save death would stop them. Leaving a living enemy behind him, to come up behind him at the worst moment, was simply not acceptable battle tactics.

Of course, he did have one of the most effective disguises on the planet at his disposal.

…

"You want me to do _what?!_ " Hal Jordan's words were almost a shriek.

"Keep it down, willya?" Arisia had cornered him in the watchtower, just outside his quarters. "Look, come on, let's go in here. Too many people around here." And she half-dragged him into his quarters. Closed the door behind them, and turned to face him.

"You want me," he said, incredulously, "to give _Ragnar Rok,_ the _Gold Lantern,_ and _who's a guy,_ by the way _,_ a _promise ring?_ Did the universe just now stop making sense, or am I just now noticing it?"

"Oh, calm down. I don't want you to give it to him _from you._ I want you to tell him it's from M'gann. Only she can't deliver it in person. See? Simple."

He stared at her. "Arisia…I hope this isn't another one of your god-awful schemes…."

"Well, of _course_ it isn't." He relaxed slightly. "It's one of my _terrific_ schemes! I've already given M'gann one, telling her it's from Ragnar; now all we need is for him to get one from her. That'll make _both_ their days, and give 'em something to hope for. You know how you've been telling me he's been moping around? Well, this is just the thing. Way better than a postcard!"

He backed away. Hal Jordan, like all Green Lanterns, had been chosen for his ability to overcome great fear, but there was a difference between fear and abject terror. "Look, 'Risia, you're playing a very very dangerous game here. It could easily blow up in your face, wreck both their lives. And _we'd_ be right square in the middle of it, at, at ground zero. I know you don't want that."

"Oh, come on, Hal. I've just come from M'gann, and she was digging a new dump, just to be down in. Now don't you think they both need a confidence booster?"

"Confidence booster, yes. Outright lie, no. Now, Arisia. Listen to me. You really need to let these two sort this out themselves. I know you mean well, but this has all the earmarks of a starship crash just waiting to happen."

"Come _on,_ Hal! Look, don't you think Ragnar _would_ give M'gann a promise ring, if he even knew about the custom?"

"Well…." That was true; he probably would.

"And you know he'd accept one from her. Done deal. So really, all we're doing here is being a little proactive. No harm done. Now, come on," she added, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Besides. I've already given M'gann one, from 'Ragnar.' If he _doesn't_ get one from her, it'll throw everything off. You don't wanna get me in trouble, now, do you?"

Hal Jordan gave up. He knew an Irresistible Force when she was talking to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, and sighed. "Okay. I have a _really_ bad feeling about this, but okay. _But…_ I am not gonna just walk up and give it to him. That'd be a little too weird, even in SoCal. I'll _mail_ it to him, with," and here, his face took on a defeated expression, "a note stating it's from her. Okay? That's the best I can do."

She threw her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. "That'll be _great,_ Hal! And you'll see: nothing can possibly go wrong!"

 _To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10: Temptation

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 10: Temptation

…

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!_

…

Temptation

 _Once upon a time, there were ten young heroes of unparalleled virtue. They were given great gifts, mighty powers granted to them by the Presence Himself, to fight and vanquish the forces of evil._

 _And this they did. They drove back the dark hordes and sealed them away beyond the boundaries of the universe…and then they realized something was wrong._

 _The universe needed something. It existed in the quantum substrate, a potential universe of great promise, but inactive, somehow. They gathered around it, curious. It needed to be activated to become real._

 _So, in the name of all those who would live in this new, young universe, one of the young heroes sacrificed himself. He gave himself up to the Fire. He became the Fire Eternal for the sake of All that Would Be._

 _Of course, as luck would have it, it wasn't quite enough._

…

The shelter: Rose came awake all at once, in the darkened room she shared with Ragnar. Evidently, she'd fallen asleep while talking to him, and he'd placed her in her bed. She was still fully dressed. It wasn't all that comfortable, but she'd far rather that than have him undress her for any reason.

She looked over at him. He was in his bed, and had his back turned to her, his breathing regular and deep. _At least he doesn't snore,_ she thought. But now…now might be the time for a little recon.

Softly, every so softly, she padded over to the wall by the door, softly feeling for any hint of vibration lurking just under the cheap paneling around the door. She probed and felt, seeking any slight buzz or vibration or warm spot that might signal wiring in an unusual place.

She had no doubt but that their room was bugged, of course. But _how_ was it bugged? Were there specific nodes concealed behind the walls, or were hidden microphones arrayed around the room?

She kept searching, patiently but with a growing sense of desperation. Unless she had some idea as to how the enemy was getting its information on them, she was hampered in making plans.

When Nightwing had sent them on this mission, he'd stressed to Ragnar that Rose was in charge. She had the experience, the skills, the knowledge. He, Ragnar, was to provide her with support, and he'd done this, though she wished they could've flown a little bit farther under the radar than they had. Their mission had been simple enough: gather information on the Church of New Enlightenment, see if there was any connection with the Sinestro Corps, or, barring that, seeing if the organization itself was dirty, in some way.

Well, she certainly had some evidence of dirt, alright. Not many charitable organizations force their clients to fight bears as a means of advancement. (But, the back of her mind had whispered, he hadn't fought the bear just to get a leg up in the organization; he'd fought the bear to protect her. She told that voice to shut the hell up.)

And she'd seen the way Brother Smith used fear: the fear of the unknown, the fear of the coming apocalypse, the fear of the authorities, and, just as important, the fear of being _shut out of_ the organization. Not many people realized how powerful that fear could be in young people, who so often desperately wanted to _belong_ to something, something to give them _identity._ So casting someone out into the cold wasn't an insignificant threat.

Still feeling over the wall, she happened to glance back at Ragnar. He had turned facing her, and his eyes were fully open. He was awake, and watching her every move. She nodded, approvingly. He hadn't said anything, or given any sound that might alert those listening in. Good. There might be hope for this boy yet.

Still feeling over the walls, she was about to come to the conclusion that the spy devices, whatever their nature, were too sophisticated for her to discover, when she felt a small vibration in the corner by the door. It wasn't on the side of the light switch…

Hm. Nothing much…just a small buzzing vibe. Most people would have never noticed it, putting it down to the vagaries of poor or shoddy architecture, but Rose had the experience to know what it was. Beneath this façade was a node, probably a listening device. The good news was, it was a good long ways from either of their beds. Now…was there one in the bathroom? Answer: yes, a small node by the door.

With a caution born of much experience, she scoured the rest of the room the same way. There didn't appear to be any such nodes in there, but she did find a small, expertly concealed video camera in the corner of the main room. She could have sworn it hadn't been there before.

The good news was, the audio pickups didn't seem to be that sensitive. So if they kept their conversation low, most of what they said would go undetected. "Alright," she said, "Now. Let's make some plans."

Mars: M'gann M'orzz was early for her next session with the Martian mystics, and appeared to have interrupted them from an argument they were having. That was unusual.

For thousands upon thousands of years, the scientist-mages of the planet humans call "Mars" had dwelt apart from the main Martian society, keeping mostly to themselves, save in matters of grave concern to the race as a whole. That they would offer to help M'gann at all was a testimony to the influence J'onn J'onzz wielded in Martian society.

 **{{I tell you, that is not an acceptable solution. We have not used that technique for the past hundred thousand cycles, and for a very good reason. No. There must be another way.}}**

 **{{We have exhausted every avenue available to us. Even our powers are limited, after all. The science this 'Bertron' employed is very advanced, and he had ample time to study the biology of the subject. He knew exactly what he was doing.}}**

 **{{Excuse me, Masters, but what are you talking about?}}** M'gann was puzzled. She'd never even heard of the Martian Mystics actually disagreeing with one another. In fact, in some parts of Martian society, some tacitly believed that the Mystics were in fact one unified mind with seven different bodies. And now they were disagreeing? With each other? She wouldn't have thought that to be possible.

 **{{It is nothing, student M'orzz. You need not concern yourself with it.}}**

 **{{Yes, Masters. How may we begin today?}}**

The session was long and grueling, and M'gann was exhausted by the end of it. The Mystics aided her in probing deep into her mind, searching out the source of the implanted meme. It appeared to be thoroughly rooted within her subconscious, so thoroughly rooted that it defied even the magicks of the Mystics.

So it was a discouraged M'gann who left at the end of the session. One of the younger Mystics, O'nzz, accompanied her towards the general directions of the quarters she'd been assigned.

M'gann was silent. Then, **{{Mistress O'nzz, what were you arguing about, when I first came in, this morning?}}**

O'nzz grew reticent. **{{It is really nothing of any concern, student M'orzz. It was…something that we came across, in our studies, that initially showed promise of being a solution, but further study indicated it was a desperate and unworthy plan. Very dangerous.}}**

 **{{But what was it?}}**

More reticence. **{{You need not even ask. There is knowledge that is forbidden, and forbidden for a reason. This is such knowledge. It could easily—very easily—prove to be worse than the original problem to begin with. And it need not affect only you. So, no. I will not even tell you what it is called.}}** She saw M'gann's expression. **{{Do not be insulted. The fault is not yours, nor are we saying you cannot be trusted. If anything, the fault is ours. In a hundred cycles or so, we perhaps would have the knowledge and the skills to make use of this technique, but we do not have that now. Attempting to use it now would be dangerously irresponsible of us.}}**

 **{{But…you could at least tell me what the process or technique** _ **is,**_ **could you not?}}**

 **{{Not without going into some detail as to the execution of it. And please believe me when I say, this knowledge, this technique of which we barely know, could prove disastrous on a scale such as you can scarcely imagine.}}** Again, she saw M'gann's expression, and attempted a comforting smile. **{{I am not trying to belittle your intellect;** **I** **can scarcely imagine the repercussions myself. None of us can. For that reason, such knowledge of this technique has been vigorously suppressed throughout our history. Used wrongly—and without complete and whole knowledge of the technique** _ **in its fullest**_ **, it could easily be so used—it might easily alter fundamental constants on a universal level.}}** M'gann looked up at her, eyes wide. **{{Yes.** _ **That**_ **is how truly dangerous this method is. So, no, put such thoughts from your mind. I know you long for healing, and we are doing everything in our power to achieve that, but this is not the way to go about it.}}**

M'gann nodded. Mistress O'nzz was, of course, right. No matter how much she wanted to be with Ragnar, there were some things it would just be plain ill-advised to do. But she had to wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind, if maybe they were just destined to never be. The thought brought a kind of coldness to her, and she shivered. No. Surely, Arisia and all the others were right; there had to be a way of undoing what was done. There just had to be.

Still…once she was back in her Spartan quarters, and purely out of curiosity, she began to look into Martian historical files. Had someone, in the past, found or theorized about a way of altering universal constants?

Now that was interesting. No Martian had, but an ancient mage from Earth, a scientist-priest named Klarkash-Ton, living in the days of Atlantis, of all times and places, had in fact theorized that reality could be described by a sufficiently intricate and lengthy number. Said number would, of course, be tremendously huge, infinite, in fact, but it was known to both Martian and Earth science: it was the number _pi._ Somewhere within that infinite irrational number could be found a series of numbers describing anything and everything….all that was, in fact.

What would happen if one should change one—or more-of those numbers?

Of course, she would never do that. No, as much in love with Ragnar as she was, she wasn't about to place all reality in jeopardy to be near him. If worse came to worst, she would simply have to live her life without him. Thinking that, her breath hitched a little.

Earth, the Shelter: It was after the evening meal, and Rose and Ragnar were wending their way back to the room they both shared. Ever since Ragnar's outburst the other day, the other boys had taken great pains to be extremely respectful of his "sister." That, plus the bracelet she was wearing, signifying increased rank, served to give them some breathing space in the crowded dormitories.

But Rose wondered when _her_ test would take place. Brother Smith had already tested Ragnar, and there were no doubt other tests waiting for him on down the road, but she, herself, had not been singled out for any such test or rite of passage. She was prepared for the worst: it would either be something like what Ragnar had gone through, or else she would be required to bestow certain "favors" on Brother Smith…no doubt favors of a sexual nature.

She already charged Ragnar that, should it come to that, to _let her freakin' handle it._ She didn't need Mr. Knight In Shining Armor to save her sweet innocence; that wasn't the way these things went. Repulsive as the notion was, she was prepared to go ahead with it, sleep with him, in order to maintain appearances' sake. Ragnar hadn't looked too pleased about that, and she'd had to pull rank on him to get him to agree, but it was one of the least-publicized facets of undercover work: sometimes it _really was_ undercover. In the most literal sense of the word.

And it was possible Ragnar himself could face similar "challenges." Brother Smith would want Ragnar's loyalty to be to him, and to him alone. As it was, his bond with his "sister" was the only one he currently had here. The two of them could simply leave, and there was nothing to keep them here.

"Except for that wristband," he'd pointed out, one night after lights-out. "He could detonate that by remote control."

"Oh, _please,_ " she replied, lying there in the darkness just across from him. "Look, I'll tell you all about that tomorrow." She had taken to performing her personal morning grooming at the same time as he normally showered off, as the noise of the water tended to cover their conversation. Plus, there was no video camera in the bathroom. "Look," she showed him. He glanced out from behind the shower curtain.

She simply unclicked the bracelet from around her wrist, then clicked it back on. "See? No explosive. An organization this big? On a shoestring budget?" She motioned to the quarters around her. "It's so much easier to just _tell_ people there's explosive in the band, than to actually go to the trouble of manufacturing an exploding bracelet that won't be set off by the first stray cell phone signal. And it's in keeping with his character: controls you by fear, remember? This is way cheaper. And who's gonna risk it? "

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, one she could hear even over the rushing of the water. "I'm…glad. I was afraid that…"

"Yeah, yeah, well, I keep trying to tell you, I know what I'm doing here. That's why Nightwing sent me on this mission. Even if the thing _had_ had an explosive in it, I could'a disarmed it, no sweat. So don't worry so. And that's what I meant: whatever he's got in store for me, you let me handle it. Don't go all overprotective on me, okay? 'Cause it's important."

He finished showering off, and stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around him, shaking his head. "I have never known anyone like you. This has been…an educational experience for me."

"I'm gonna take it you mean that in a good way. Just…just let me do my job, okay? If I need your help, I'll let you know. But until then, just…just try not to screw anything up." As she talked, she wondered: was it universal, this, this overprotectiveness men seemed to feel towards women? Here, Ragnar had grown up on a deserted planet, he hadn't even had a patriarchal society to model on, and he still seemed to want to build a wall and dig a moat around her. She could handle herself, and had, on many occasions. Not that she didn't appreciate the notion of backup, but anything can be carried too far. And carrying this, this cloistering chauvinism too far could lead to a confrontation that would blow everything higher than up.

The next day: Rose was summoned to meet with Brother Smith in his office, and, once again, given some yellow robes to wear. This caused her a bit of nervousness; the last time she'd done this, Smith had led them into the bear-fighting scheme. She hoped this wasn't a prelude to another such trial-by-combat.

The robes themselves reminded her of the cloaks and _burkhas_ worn my women in the middle east. These didn't have any covering for the head, however. She grimaced as she examined the design: had they been of the midriff-baring design, they could easily have passed as harem-type outfits.

If Brother Smith thought to add her to his harem, he was in for a surprise.

"Ah, Kim. So good of you to join me. Please, have a seat." Brother Smith was sitting behind his desk, as he always was, reviewing something on a terminal that was turned in such a way that Rose couldn't see it. "Yes. I was most impressed by your brother, the other day."

Rose gave him a decidedly unfriendly look. "I should hope so. I've heard of throwing people to the wolves, but I've never actually seen it done before."

"Now, now, Kim. I had good reason to believe your brother would not only pass that little test, but that he would triumph. Dead bodies serve no purpose, mine or anyone else's. But it wasn't just his physical strength so much, as it was his devotion to you that impressed me."

"His devotion to me? What do you mean? He's my _brother._ "

"You'd be surprised how many brothers would feel no such commitment to their own flesh and blood. That was part and parcel of why I told you about the bracelet, which, I'm sure you've determined by now, is not explosive at all. But he didn't know that. Even had he felt he had no chance of winning the battle, he still would have fought. I need that kind of dedication for what I intend to do. Oh, don't pretend to look surprised; I'm sure, once you took the time to figure it out, you realized I wouldn't have put an explosive device on you that might've gone off with me standing right there. I'm allergic to shrapnel.

"But as I said, it served to give him additional motivation. So now I know his motivation, what moves him.

"Now I need to know what motivates you."

Rose tensed. "What do you mean?"

Smith leaned across the desk as looked at her, his eyes seemingly penetrating skin, bone, and brain, making her feel naked, somehow, in a more than physical way. "Hm. There is much pain in your life. Much sorrow. And much fear. Yes. Such things…can be alleviated, if you will but let me." What made her even more nervous was that was almost what Ragnar had said, that day back in the motel, when he did…whatever he did to her. Did Brother Smith have similar powers?

She hoped not. One flake with freaky-deak powers was one too many.

"Er, Brother Smith…you…you're not trying to come onto me, are you?" Rose was careful to add just the right amount of fearful inflection into her voice, just as a young teenage runaway would normally feel when confronted with an older man, one obviously in authority, who seemed to be trying to manipulate her…

Trying, hell; he _was_ manipulating her. In spite of her experience, Rose could literally feel an air of _control_ skirting the outermost regions of her mind. Anyone else in this situation, especially a teenage girl, would be overwhelmed.

"Come on to you? No, my dear, not the way you mean. I mean, there is that which I can do for you, that no one else can. I can sense the pain you've felt, throughout your young life, and the fear. I can understand why you cling to your brother the way you do: he's all you have left. The same goes for him. What I'm telling you is, you—the both of you—also have _me._ The resources of my organization can be at your disposal." As he spoke, Rose was conscious of something edging around the outskirts of her mind, something very subtle…something an untrained person would never sense.

It was easy to see how Brother Smith could amass such a following. Take young people who had nowhere else to go, give them a place to call home, a sense of belonging, of identity…and a certain status in an enclosed environment, of being on the inside looking out, of being part of the _in_ group…how many teenagers dreamed of something like that?

"Well, uh, I…that is, thank you, sir, I, I mean we, appreciate that. I haven't talked to Collin about it, but, but I'm sure he'd go for it. Uh, what—what would you have me do?" Even as she said it, she tensed. Here it came.

"Oh, nothing major, not right now, anyway. I recognize your talents lie in a different area altogether. For right now, I want you specialize in taking care of your brother. He…seems to have some issues, as I'm sure you've noticed." His voice turned introspective, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. "There is…something about him, something I've never…sensed before. He is approaching a major turning point in his life. And there is nobody better suited than you to help him with those, even as, I'm sure, you've helped him in the past. In the process, you'll both be introduced to my organization, at a level higher than anyone else here, and its purpose, and you, yourself, will be trained in those ways in which you can best serve. Think about it: together we can make a significant difference in this world, and thus secure for ourselves a proper place in the world to come. For that world is coming, make no mistake. You don't even need me to tell you that; simply read a newspaper. We live in a nation, supposedly the freest on Earth, where, in some places, were the president to declare martial law tomorrow, nobody would notice any difference. And this is in America! Other places—also in America—would welcome the imposition of martial law.

"What I propose is simply what humans have done since the rise of intelligence itself: we band together, and take care of each other." He spread his hands, his expression completely open. "Nothing complicated or sinister about it. Just people helping people, the way we always have. The way you've helped your brother, the way he's helped you.

"Think about it. Go back to him now, and talk it over, just the two of you."

Elsewhere in the complex: the janitor was emptying out the garbage cans, taking care to separate the contents. And, in the process, she just happened to inspect said contents.

You can learn a lot about a place by what they throw away, Barbara Gordon thought.

She was stationed in a different part of the complex than Rose and Ragnar. They, of course, were unaware of her presence there, or her mission, which was both intel and if necessary, backup. Nightwing had not trusted to Ragnar's ring or Rose's experience completely; in spite of their abilities, the two of them could easily get in over their heads, especially if Sinestro Corps members were involved. This was more than mere undercover work; the Sinestro Corps were a cosmic level threat, each one of them approximating their Green Lantern counterparts in terms of power, and usually quite a bit more devious. Especially Sinestro himself.

Of course, she knew they'd not be so stupid as to throw out transcripts of conversations with yellow lanterns. What she was looking for were indications of illegal pharmaceuticals, the kind that might have killed the young people they'd found.

So far, she'd found a whole lot of nothing. Then, from one moment to the next, Batgirl froze. Although she could never say how, she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that she was being watched.

Was her cover blown? She had her cover story prepared: just the janitor, sorting through and taking out the garbage. Carefully, yet casually seeming, she glanced around.

Nothing. The corridor was empty. It was after lights-out, and none of the shelter's inhabitants were out and about. Maybe it was her imagination?

So why was she getting goosebumps?

Once, when she was little, Barbara Gordon's father, police commissioner James Gordon had taken her on a hunting trip in the Rocky Mountains. Being her usual willful self, and wanting to prove herself to him, she sneaked out of the cabin where they were staying in the middle of the night, confident that there was nothing out there to be afraid of. She'd ventured to the edge of the forested area—and slightly into it.

What had struck her first was how absolutely _dark_ it was. The stars shone overhead, but their light was insufficient to see by. She literally couldn't see her hand before her face, and she began to panic when she realized she was out of sight of the cabin. Then the fear had struck.

She _knew_ she was being watched, and watched by something dangerous, something close by, something she couldn't see, in the darkness. She'd frozen, something telling her that to move was to die. And she'd noticed how still everything was: there was no sound of night animals, no rustling in the leaves, no calls of night birds. Just silence.

Then she'd heard her father calling her. He'd noticed her absence, and, knowing his headstrong daughter, come out to get her. Her sense of relief was immense, and as he drew nearer, she felt the malevolent presence nearby diminishing.

He'd found her, grabbed her in a hug, and dragged her back to the cabin, his rifle covering any and all suspicious patches of darkness. She'd sobbed, asking for his forgiveness, not because she feared punishment, but because something told her she'd had a very narrow escape this night.

The next day, they went out to where she'd been. There, not more than ten yards away were the tracks of a mountain lion. It had stopped and looked at her while she was wandering in the darkened forest, blissfully unaware of the danger that had lurked just outside her realm of vision.

On the way back from that trip, they'd heard about a camper who'd been killed and partially eaten by a large mountain lion. Another had been mauled, and permanently crippled. Of course, there was no indication that it was the same creature as had stopped to examine her…but Barbara Gordon knew, in her heart, that it was the same.

She felt that way now. Someone—something—was watching her. Something dangerous. Something she couldn't see.

Carefully, very carefully, she reached into the pocket of her coveralls and gripped her Taser baton. Given half a chance, she'd show whatever it was that she was no longer a helpless child. Normally, the security measures of the shelter would pick up anyone coming in with anything that might be a weapon, but thanks to Ragnar's and Doomsday's genius, all she'd had to do was store the mass in the quantum black hole, then have her belt replicate what she needed once past the scanners. Going out worked the same way: just shove everything back into the black hole's singularity: voila! No contraband weapons. The shelter's security system wasn't sophisticated enough to detect the replicator itself.

And then the feeling passed, leaving alone and shaky…and slowly returning the baton to its holster. What had that been all about? A Sinestro Corps member? But that wasn't their usual MO….usually, they were anything but subtle.

The next morning: Rose's and Ragnar's room. "So that's the story. He thinks there's something special about you—no point in lying about it, he's way too skilled at this sort of thing—and I guess wants me to be your 'handler,' so to speak. But I'm sure there's more to it than that." The pair were in the small bathroom, Rose brushing her hair and teeth, Ragnar showering off.

"What else do you see as happening?" he asked, over the sound of the rushing water.

She shook her head, more from reflex, since he couldn't see her, from behind the shower curtain. She'd laid down the law: it was one thing for her to groom while he showered—that was a necessity, since the sound of the water muted out their voices—but he was absolutely forbidden in the bathroom while she was. If that was a double standard, so be it. ("I know, I know," he'd said, with a smirk, when she'd told him that. "I haven't seen your 'junk.'" She'd chortled at that; "Not 'junk;" with boys, it's 'junk.' With girls it's 'treasures.' You haven't seen my 'treasures.'"

"I thought you were the one opposed to double standards," he'd said.

"Hey, it is what it is."

She could sense him shaking his head behind the shower curtain. "Again I say, I have never known anyone quite like you. You and your strange idioms.") "No clue. But I have a strong hunch we won't like it."

…

Mars: M'gann couldn't keep from reading the old texts about the ancient Earth mathematician-mage Klarkash-Ton. It made a weird kind of sense: both Martian and Earth cultures had their legends about some process or spell or artifact or something similar that could grant wishes, make the impossible happen—but always at a price. Usually a high price.

Would there be any harm in…she resolutely put the book, an ancient hardcopy, back on the shelf. Of course there would be.

Of course….if she could just locate the string of numbers in the universal code that described _her_ , and made just one very tiny little change….

But one thing every ancient authority stressed: there were always repercussions. You couldn't just change _one thing._ Everything was interconnected, even those things seemingly not connected at all, were, somewhere along the way, part and parcel of the whole universe. And, from what she was seeing, this process might not stop with just this universe.

No. No way. Mistress O'nzz was right: it was just too dangerous.

 _To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11: Choices

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 11: Choices

…

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!_

… _.._

Chapter 12: Choices

Rose found out what Brother Smith had in mind for her: an almost laughingly easy (for her) martial arts course, coupled with basic infiltration tactics. Again, child's play for one who'd been trained by Deathstroke himself. But she didn't let him know that.

And the training wasn't effortless; she found herself tiring at the end of the day, relishing the chance to get back to the room, shower off, and change clothes, in preparation for dinner.

Ragnar had been his usual silent self. She came out of the shower, dressed in a clean pullover and jeans, and saw him sitting on the bedside, staring down at his hands. She knew his gold ring was on the right hand, but invisible until he willed it to be otherwise. Must be neat, she thought, to be able to conjure up anything you wanted with just a thought. Though lately that hadn't seemed to help him much. She decided it was too much of a crutch, at least for somebody like her.

She felt the need to talk to him, to explain some of the hard truths about their job, about accepting her leadership, about…a lot of things. But she wasn't sure how to go about it. "Collin? Let's talk."

"Certainly, Kim. What do you want to talk about?" His voice was almost a monotone.

"Look, I…maybe I've been sorta harsh about…some things. It's just…you have to learn to, to listen to me. Okay? To accept my leadership." They kept their voices low, to avoid the sound pickup on the far side of the room. "It's very important that you do. Maybe…maybe if we'd had time to get to know each other, you'd know that I know what I'm talking about, about…these things. But we were kinda thrown into this…I guess I can't blame you for not trusting me."

He was silent for a long moment. Then, "It is not just you I don't trust. I also…do not trust myself."

"Huh?" Where had that come from? "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "Kim…I think I may be losing my mind."

 _Great,_ thought Rose.

…..

The Hunter moved silently throughout the shelter, seeking its master. Its master, his ancient enemy, might not be here now, but he would be, and soon. And the Hunter would be ready. Just as he'd been ready for nearly a thousand years.

…

Rose dreamed of fire that night.

Everything was burning, as though an atomic bomb had gone off. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, was nothing but rubble and flames.

Wait. What was that, over there?

She saw a figure, dressed in a uniform strangely similar to Ragnar's Gold Lantern outfit, laughing riotously, as though this holocaust was his doing. He had his back to her.

She clambered over the hot, smoking ruins, and ran up to him. There could be no doubt as to who it was….but why?

But before she got to the laughing figure, something tugged on her scaled uniform she was wearing. Looking down, she saw a child, a little girl with blond hair, who couldn't have been more than eight years old, grasping her belt. The child's clothes were torn and bloody, but the little girl herself seemed okay. "Hey, kid, leggo. Who are you? And where are we?"

"You've got to stop him, Miss Rose! This is only the beginning! If you don't stop him, it'll be like this everywhere!" The girl was on the verge of hysterics.

"Stop him? Stop who? What are you talking about?" Even though she knew damn well "who".

"It's Mr. Ragnar. Or, rather, it's what he'll become. You've got to stop him. You've got to save him, Miss Rose.

"'Cause if you don't, he'll burn. He'll burn _forever._ "

…..

"So you're sure you sensed the presence of _something_ there in the shelter? Something…abnormal?" Nightwing was listening to Batgirl's report.

" _Yeah, I am. And Ragnar and Rose need to know. There's something there…and I don't think it's affiliated with Smith's organization."_

"Could it be a yellow lantern?"

" _When have you ever known a yellow lantern to be subtle like this? That's not their usual MO. Besides, they'd have no business inside the complex, would they?"_

"I guess that would determine what their arrangement with Brother Smith is. But yeah, lurking in darkened hallways…isn't usually their style."

" _So now what?"_

"I'm sending in Red Arrow. Rose and Ragnar won't know he's there, not immediately at least, but he'll be on the sidelines, just in case they need backup. And he can slip them the information about this mysterious presence you've sensed—if they haven't already encountered it themselves. And I'll try to figure out some way to get some more of the Team members in there…damn. I sure miss M'gann for an operation like this. Shape shifters are naturals for this sort of thing."

" _Just as well she's_ _not_ _on this mission."_ Batgirl wore an amused expression. _"Rose and Ragnar are sharing a room, as 'brother and sister.' I imagine M'gann wouldn't like that one little bit."_

"Ah, yeah, I think that's a given. Still wish she was here, though."

" _I know you do, and so do we all. Have you heard from her?"_ The Team communicators were secure.

"Only that 'progress was being made.' I get the impression it's progress of the microscopic variety."

" _Damn. I hate to hear that. I guess there's nothing we can do?"_

"Short of rolling back the hands of time, I don't know what." He paused a moment, then deliberately changed the subject. "Anyway, get me those datafiles you got, and we'll go over them with a fine-tooth comb. If Smith's dirty, we'll find it."

….

Friday: Rose was once again summoned to Brother Smith's office, and once again wearing the ubiquitous yellow robes that he seemed to expect her to wear when meeting with him. By now they no longer bothered her, though she suspected the yellow coloration had something to do with Smith's covert connection to the Sinestro Corps. Like a signature. "You wanted to see me, Brother Smith?"

"Yes, Kim, I did. Please. Come in and have a seat." He turned away from his terminal. "How are the martial arts classes coming?" Watching her face the whole time.

She refused to meet his eyes. "Q-quite well, I think. I got pretty sore at first, but I'm learning."

"Yes, yes, you are. And so is your brother." He touched a button, and a large flatscreen monitor lowered from the ceiling on the far wall. Another touch.

The scene depicted Ragnar fending off dozens of black-garbed fighters, some of whom were already on the ground, with a couple on the sidelines, clearly injured. The rest attacked in formation, obviously well-trained and well-coordinated attacks.

Some of those blows landed, and Rose winced as she saw one in particular, that should have driven a normal man to his knees, smack soundly into his neck. Ragnar shrugged it off, and countered with an attack of his own, never taking his eyes off his opponents, and maintaining as defensible a position as he could, there in the middle of the amphitheatre. It was the same one where he'd fought the bear.

For her.

 _Shut up._

"I-I really, I really wish you, you wouldn't, wouldn't _do_ this to him! I mean…it's like you said, he, he has problems…that was one reason we had to leave…"

Brother Smith spoke soothingly. "Calm down, Kim. He's fine. His attackers have been ordered to attack to the fullest, yes, but not lethally. He, however, has been given no such orders. It's a good thing we have some excellent medical care here, affiliated with the shelter; some of those men are going to need it."

"But _why_ are you doing this? Wasn't the bear enough?"

"The bear was merely a test. Your brother needs training, Kim. Oh, and by the way, you should know I told him you'd be watching him fight, this day, and, although I didn't actually come right out and say it, I, well, _heavily implied_ , shall we say, that your well-being was once again on the line, should he lose. Therefore, he will not lose."

"You keep _manipulating_ him…."

"I keep _training_ him. This is necessary if he is to fit into my organization. Even as your training is necessary. But the reason I've called you here is this. Young Mr. DeMato has done exceedingly well here, exceeding my expectations by a considerable margin. I think he deserves a special reward for his battles, his successes. You will choose her."

"Ub…come again?" Rose's mind was derailed by the sudden unexpected shift.

Brother Smith picked up a folder and passed it to her. Rose opened it, to reveal picture after picture of various pretty girls, some of whom she'd seen around the shelter. "These young women have been selected for their natural physical attractiveness, and their willingness to serve in this capacity. All of them have expressed a personal interest in your brother, as well. You are to select one—or more than one, as you deem fit—for him to be with, tonight. His reward, for doing so well. And before you ask, rest assured they are all disease-free. Those constant drug screens and blood tests we run on all of you serve more than one purpose."

 _Okay, Rose,_ said a smirking part of herself, _you're the professed "expert" in covert affairs…how are_ _you_ _going to handle_ _this_ _?_

She looked over the files in the folder. With a sinking sensation, she realized that this was pretty much what she'd predicted: Brother Smith would want Ragnar to be loyal to him and to his organization. Naturally, he'd use sex as a bond. She just hadn't been expecting to be placed right smack in the middle of it. _Oh, shit._

She'd thought it would take the form of some personal seduction on the part of one of the girls at the shelter, one of them just "coming on" to Ragnar, whereupon he'd explain that he was coming out of a relationship and didn't feel like getting into another right then….or something like that. At least, that's what she'd coached him on doing, and it wasn't totally untrue.

But she hadn't figured on being required to _find a girl to get him laid._ That had _never_ entered the equation.

Why couldn't Nightwing have arranged for them to just be presented as a married couple? That would have worked out just fine, and would have avoided this whole, unexpected complication. But nooooOOOOoooo…. Maybe he thought they were being presented as too young.

He'd never be unfaithful to M'gann, even though they were apart, not even in order to maintain their cover. "I—I don't think he'll go for this," she faltered, and for once, the stammer wasn't faked.

"But he must," Brother Smith insisted. "It's an important part of his training, the training you're both undergoing. If you won't pick one, I shall have to."

Rose thought fast. This was totally unforeseen, in any of the scenarios they'd gone over. She could only think of one way out of it, only one way to save them both. "Very well." She sat back, arms folded across her chest. "In that case, I pick me."

It was mildly rewarding to see the normally unflappable Brother Smith's eyebrow raise by a fraction of an inch.

 _To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12: Acts

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 12: Acts

…

 _This one caught me by surprise. I normally rate these stories as "T", but in this case, I had to change the rating to an "M" for reasons that will become apparent. …_

 _..._

Brother Smith's expression was as close to being surprised as anytime Rose had seen it. " _You?_ You…intend to seduce your _own brother?_ " He paused, apparently gathering his thoughts. "I thought, when we first talked, you told me there was nothing of that sort going on between the two of you."

"There's not. It's…complicated." Rose glanced off, putting on the expression of someone forced to reveal a confidence she'd never intended to reveal. "But…back home…Collin had a, a really bad experience with a girl. I mean, like, _really_ bad. Like atomic bomb bad. I'm afraid, you put him in a room with some strange girl, an' he'd, he'd just freak out. I don't want that." She paused, audibly swallowing. "It's one of the reasons we had to leave." Then, "I'm the only girl he really trusts. And, yeah, he's probably the only guy I trust, too." _At least, here._ "For, for reasons I don't wanna go into." She squared her shoulders, determination on her face. "So I pick me. It'll, it'll work out, you'll see."

He was shaking his head. "You're talking about _incest,_ Kim. That's unhealthy. I don't want to harm him—or you, either, for that matter…I've big plans for the both of you."

"Yeah, but I know my brother better than you do. Believe me, this is for the best." Yeah, she was already seeing how this would shape up…it would work, providing she could just persuade Brother Smith to go for it.

And persuade Ragnar Rok not to go ballistic before she could explain her plan to him. "Look, just trust me. I'll, I'll handle it. Besides. I, I don't want any of those girls with, with my brother."

"What if he refuses? After all, you _are_ his sister…" _Aren't you?_ She could almost hear the unspoken question. All the more reason to stick with the program.

"He won't. He'll do whatever I tell him to. It's…it's just the way things are, with us. Like I said, he trusts me. Fully. Even about this. He knows I won't abuse that trust, but sending him to some other girl _would_ be abusing it. I know him better than that."

He gave her a long, long, completely unreadable look. Then, "Very well. If you're sure…" She nodded vigorously. "Then I shall trust your judgment. BUT…if it looks to be harming either of you, I'll have to put a stop to it, regardless of whether or not your brother 'freaks out.' I'll probably have to separate the two of you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir! A-and you'll, you'll see. That won't be necessary. It'll work out. We'll _make_ it work."

When Ragnar came back to the room that evening, he was surprised to see Rose sitting, not on her bed, but upon his. Her expression was…very nervous. And even more alarming, to him, it didn't seem to be that much of an act, on her part. "Uh, Collin? Honey? I, uh. We, erm. I mean, uhm. I mean, you and I…have to talk."

Immediately he knew something was very wrong. Rose had called him lots of names during their brief acquaintance, but "honey" had _never_ been one of them.

…

She motioned for him to come sit beside her. Ever the "obedient brother," he came over and sat a few inches away from her. She moved closer, so that their hips were touching. He started to hitch away, but she reached out and placed her hand on his leg, right above the knee. That made him _highly_ uncomfortable. "Uh, Collin, see, here's the thing…" He really didn't want her touching him.

Truth was, Ragnar was coming to dislike this person he was partnered with. Practically every conversation they'd had had ended with her berating him for some failing on his part. While he understood that all this intrigue was new to him—for that matter, life on Earth was new to him, in so many ways-, and that he therefore had a lot to learn, he couldn't help but feel there were better, less acrimonious ways of explaining his mistakes and what he needed to do. She didn't seem to know any.

But regardless of her attitude, she was his partner, and therefore, his responsibility. That didn't mean he welcomed her touch.

So, very gingerly, as though he were picking up week-old roadkill, he plucked her hand up off his leg and placed it, very pointedly, on _her_ leg. She immediately put it back on his, just above the knee, just like before, and kept right on "explaining" whatever it was she was explaining. He found he couldn't concentrate on what she was trying to say, except that she didn't seem to be saying it very well. "…and, and, I came up with something, it's not perfect, God knows, but it's all we've got at this point…"

He put her hand back on her own leg. She immediately placed it back on his. This dance went on three more times before he decided he'd just have to endure this unwanted touch, at least until she got through saying whatever she was saying.

"…and, basically, Brother Smith has decided you, uh, you deserve a very special reward for, for doing so well, as far as you have, and, well, he-*"

"My 'reward,'" he ground out, "is in knowing you are safe and unharmed. After all, you are my…sister." He couldn't keep his eyes from rolling at that last word.

She suddenly leaned closer, and hissed, just loud enough for him to hear. _"Play along, stupid! This is important, and I don't wanna haveta go over it again!"_ Then she leaned in, in an almost _intimate_ way. "Come to think of it," she said, suddenly brightening, "You've just come from training. Let's go get you washed off." They usually had most of their disguised conversations in the bathroom, while he showered, and the sound obscuring their voices from the audio pickups.

 _Oh, all right,_ he thought. Anything to get her hand off his leg.

While he showered she told him that she had been watching, from Brother Smith's office, his latest round of "training." "And I have to admit, truthfully, I am impressed. I mean, for-real impressed. You haven't had that much formal training, but I imagine your time on your homeworld must've toughened you up quite a bit. And I'm guessing you're probably in the same strength category as Superboy, now."

"Hmph." There wasn't much he could say to that; it was the closest thing to a compliment she'd ever paid him.

"Anyway, what I was trying to get at, out there, is that Brother Smith has decided you deserve…a special reward for doing so well." She sighed, hating to have to say what she was about to say. "Something above and beyond just saving my life."

"Hmph. And that would be?" There had to be a reason she hadn't just come out with it already.

Rose took a deep breath. "Okay. Don't…don't freak out on me, okay? Promise?" Pause. "He wants you to have sex with, with someone. As a reward for your doing so well."

The only sound coming from the shower stall was the sound of the running water. For a moment, she wondered if he'd even heard her. Then, very clearly, "No."

"Hear me out. He wanted me to choose one of the girls here. I knew how you'd feel about that; you don't want to be unfaithful to M'gann, and I understand that totally."

"Good."

"So that's why I told him it'd have to be me."

"WHAT!?"

"Keep it down! Remember, you promised not to freak out! I'm calling you on that! Now, just hang on and _listen_ to me, okay?"

He stuck his head out from around the shower curtain and looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. "Are you," he began, "insane?" It sounded like a serious question.

"Just _listen,_ dammit! We don't have to actually _do it_ , all we have to do is, is fake it. Make it _look_ like we're doing it. I can guide you through that. That's why I chose me. Any other girl…well, you know."

He still had his head stuck out from behind the shower curtain, looking at her. "Let me see if I have this straight. You…and me…" He trailed off, almost choking, as though he couldn't seem to get the rest of the sentence out.

"You and me _faking_ it, dammit! The video cameras in here aren't that good, especially with the lights off. Which they will be. All we have to do is put on a good show. And, and that's not that hard to do. Trust me."

Still more of that _look_ from behind the curtain. She wished he'd stop that. This was hard enough as it was. "I was under the impression," he said, "that we were supposed to be brother and sister."

"We are."

"And we're supposed to….?"

"Yeah. Remember what Nightwing said: _I'm in charge._ I know what I'm doing, and this is the only way. Or would you rather I go find some shelter tramp to spread her legs for you? Don't you see? This is the only way we can even hope to preserve our cover."

He didn't say anything, but just returned to his shower. She could hear him sigh in resignation. "Alright. How do we…do this?"

Rose breathed a sigh of her own, one of relief. Worst hurdle, over. "Just put your shorts on and join me out here, okay?"

….

The main room: Rose stripped off her outer garments, leaving only her bra and panties. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to get any further undressed. Even though she had disguised herself by dying her hair down to the roots, and using makeup to deliberately obscure her normally fine features, there was nothing she could do about her trim, taut body. She went over and sat on Ragnar's bed and waited.

Presently, he came out, clad only in his shorts. Rose looked him over. Okay, impressive, yeah. If only he were someone else…anyone else… "Now, come over here, get in bed here." He complied, grudgingly, or so it seemed to her; the twin bed was barely big enough for him, let alone the two of them. "Now just stay put, while I shower off. I'll be right back." She dodged into the bathroom and washed herself off, particularly in certain places. Getting ready. Came back out, once again clad in her underwear, and climbed into bed beside him.

"Alright." She spoke in low whispers. "The sound pickups in here are not only tiny, they're primitive-looking; so they're probably not that sensitive. Still, keep your voice down.

"Okay. Now, I have a confession to make. Regular sex I know about, but this is not regular sex. So I'll have to improvise, a sort of a play-by-play running instructional commentary. You just play along with everything, and do everything I tell you to do, even if you don't understand it, okay? Just trust me, and do it.

"So now here's how we play it. You're my brother, yes, and you're very unsure about all this, it doesn't seem right….

"I believe I can handle that part without great difficulty."

"Shuddup. So you resist, passively. You sort of stiffen up, you're not very responsive, like you really don't wanna have anything to do with this…"

"That won't be much act either."

"Shuddup. You don't jump up and run away or anything, but you sort of attempt to keep your distance from me, sort of push me away, not hard or anything, but just for appearance's sake. Now, I know you have the brain of a cockroach, but is any of this getting through to you?"

"The 'shuddups' are unmistakable."

"Christ." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his chest. _We are so fubar'd._ She breathed deeply for a moment. How on Earth was she supposed to conduct an undercover assignment saddled with this moron? Of course, she knew Nightwing's reasoning: Ragnar was new to Earth, and was unfamiliar to any of the face and voice recognition programs they'd be likely to encounter. Another level of concealment, and one that could come in handy, she had to admit. Plus, he had the raw muscle to serve as their own built-in backup, should they need it. "Well, we'll just have to do the best we can. Okay. Remember, you're unsure about all this, but I keep on talking, persuading you…" and she went on and on. Then, "Finally, you give in, and allow me to pull us together closer—"And she did so, mostly moving herself. He weighed a lot more than he looked—"Anyway, you basically stop resisting, and let me start, I dunno, kinda, _enfolding_ you, kissing you, letting me get ready to, to have you-*"

"You're making yourself sound like a Venus Flytrap." Surprisingly, she chortled, her head against his chest. "Well, at least I made you laugh."

"Yeah, I probably needed that. Okay. Back to work…"

She rolled him over on his back, and slid down him, putting her head close to his. "Okay, I'm gonna have to, like, move up and down on you, okay? Try not to get too turned on or anything, remember, this is just the way it goes, in real life, only, only, you know, with you, uhm, actually penetrating me. Without that, I mean. In this case."

Afterward, in the pretend-afterglow of the pretend-orgasm: "So now what?"

"Now we just lie here, like this. You're okay, aren't you? No problems? Okay, good." She sighed again, holding him as close as she possibly could, her arms around him. "You, you did good."

"That's the first praise I've gotten from you the entire time I've known you."

Rose was surprised. Had she really been _that_ hard on him? Of course, the stakes here were so high…but still. "Well, maybe I've been a little harsh. I can't expect you to know everything. But you have to learn to trust me, to accept my leadership in this situation. I have the experience. That's why Nightwing brought me into this whole thing, and even with all that, nothing's certain. I get the distinct impression Brother Smith knows a lot more about us than I'm comfortable with, but how he knows, I'm not sure.

"So…you're…okay? I mean, this was a big step, one that a lot of experienced operatives would've had problems with…you're okay?"

"Yes. I won't lie and say I'm totally comfortable with it, but I am…okay. Although," he said with a slight smile, "I fear I now have at least one experience I can never share with Megan." His smile dropped. "Assuming I have the chance to share anything with her at all, ever again."

"Yeah, I don't think she'd understand. And you will have that opportunity, though…I'm like the others: there's too many people working on this thing for it to go on for long. You'll get her back." Abruptly, and for reasons she could never fully explain, even to herself, she reached up and kissed him. He drew back, startled. "Uh, that was for luck," she explained, hastily.

"Right. For luck."

….

Back at the mall, Stacey McAllister was once again closing up shop at the Victoria's Secret where she worked. Once again, the mall was largely deserted; she could see some late-night shoppers down at the other end, but this end was fairly free.

Which was exactly the way she liked it, this late at night. She wasn't a loner, but she'd learned that unsavory types tend to hang around the less-populated areas of suburbia at these hours. However, if you simply avoid people altogether, you avoid trouble.

She turned away from the door, having made sure the electronic safeguards were in place…and received a small shock.

Across the mall, in almost the same place she'd seen him last time, was that same little boy she'd seen not long ago. Looking right at her.

But this time, rather than just standing there, he was not only staring at her with that same unnerving intensity, but his right hand was outstretched, pointing at her.

She looked behind her, an automatic gesture, to see if there was someone behind her. But there wasn't, only the blank, reflective surface of the storefront. Another reflex: she checked the reflected image of the mall in glass, to make sure he hadn't sneaked up on her while she had her back turned.

She couldn't find his reflection in the glass surface. Puzzled, she looked back across the mall…and there he was, still with his hand outstretched, his finger pointing right at her.

"Er, are—are you, are you pointing at me? Who-who _are_ you?" Her voice squeaked just a little. There was something just plain _eerie_ about all this, and right then, she would have almost welcomed the presence of a nice, friendly mugger. Somebody _normal._

His mouth opened. Although he couldn't be more than a few yards away, she had a hard time understanding what he said. It wasn't that he didn't speak loudly enough, or speak clearly, but something about the _way_ he spoke chilled her. "It's coming," he said. Or had he said, " _He's_ coming?" She wasn't sure.

"I'm, I'm sorry? I, I didn't quite catch what you said. _What's_ coming?"

The child's arm lowered, though his gaze never left her. With a sensation of cold chills running up and down her spine, she realized that the whole time she'd been watching him, she hadn't seen him blink. Not once.

"The Fire."

 _To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13: Intuitions

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 13: Intuitions

…

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!_

… _._

Chapter 14: Intuitions

The next day, Rose was summoned once again to Brother Smith's office. "Well, Kim? How, er, how did it go?"

Rose had been expecting him to inquire about the details for prurient reasons, but he sounded sincere and professional. She was beginning to wonder if her private evaluation of Brother Smith was accurate. He seemed far more complex than she'd anticipated. "Quite well, actually. I explained the situation to him, and, although he had some…misgivings…about it at first—okay, a lot of misgivings-, I was able to…bring him over. He's okay, and so am I. It, uh," and here she faked a blush, "it was…very good. For, for both of us."

"So." Watching her the whole time, his attention unwavering. "It seems to have been a beneficial thing for you both. Though I'm still sensing something…unusual…from your brother."

"Unusual how, sir?"

"Like there was someone else in the picture, someone he's having a hard time thinking about. Maybe letting go. I realize that your personal lives before you came to the shelter are none of my business, but could this be the 'bad experience' you spoke of, earlier?"

Good God. Could Brother Smith sense that much about Ragnar? And from a distance, at that? What powers did this man—if he was a man—possess?

She kept her gaze lowered while she spoke. "Yes, sir. Very probably. It, it didn't end well _at all_ , and, and, well." She fell silent for a moment, looking at her hands. Then, "Girls were always drawn to Collin, and, although he could never understand it, I saw it. Even as his sister, I saw it. Come to think of it, that may have been part of the reason why they were so attracted to him… And then that bitch…you have _no freakin' idea_ how bad it was… I, I would'a done _any_ thing to help him. I just didn't know _what._ But if someone, back then, had told me that someday I'd be _fucking_ him, and, even more bizarre, _loving_ it _,_ I would've asked them what they were high on." She barked a laugh. "Funny, the curve balls life throws you."

"Indeed. And make no mistake, Ms. DeMato: you play a very important role in his life. It's not just a matter of 'reward for good behavior.' This goes far beyond that, far beyond anything to do with my organization. Indeed, it's a good thing both of you found your way here when you did, for this…linkage will prove to be more valuable than you can readily know. You're his _anchor_ , his focal point of contact with the entire human race. And that's going to be vital for his future. Not just his future here in my organization, but his future _period._ Always assuming, of course, that he has one.

"For I sense your brother is changing. I don't know if it's some mutation, or something else, but surely you've noticed that he's become _larger_ since his stay here."

Rose nodded, even though she really hadn't. She knew Ragnar was slightly larger, taller, and broader than he was when he first came to Earth, but she hadn't actually seen any significant change since they'd undertaken this whole fiasco of a mission.

Rose was pretty sure they were compromised somehow. The only thing was: how badly were they compromised, and what should they do about it?

"In any case, I'm allowing you the use of a computer terminal. One's being installed in your quarters even now. With it, you'll be able to access our private domain site, and browse the web for information, especially for information about how to deal with your brother's changes. Of course, there may not be that much out there for this specific case. But there may be information you can adapt to your unique situation." He looked at her with a very sober, intense expression on his face. "He's going to need you, and need you very much, in the days to come. You _do_ want to help him, don't you?"

"Of, of course I do! Otherwise, I never would've-*"

He held up a hand. "I know. And I know it was a big hurdle for you. You may've had thoughts about it before, or you may not, but either way, the reality is a bit different."

"I'll say."

"Your devotion to him and his to you is one reason I want you both to become my personal staff, here in this chapter of my organization, answerable only to me. I know he is devoted to you, and that's as it should be, even without…the other thing. So, I'm in the process of moving you two into better quarters, somewhat roomier, and with a higher level of security clearance, just as you have now. You'll each have a terminal of your own in your new quarters. But remember: to whom much is given, much is expected. Now. About your new responsibilities…"

Rose could hardly contain herself. Finally! They'd gotten access to the organization's data files! Sure, there was probably a lot of misinformation on them, but she could sort through that.

But now it was more critically important than ever that they play their cards exactly right. That "security clearance" would have to be dealt with, as she was absolutely certain it worked both ways.

Ragnar wasn't in the room when she got back, but the shiny new computer console was. She wasted no time getting on it, and googling up all she could reasonably be expected to google. After all, it was a lead pipe cinch that someone, somewhere, was monitoring her browsing pattern. So she had to have one to monitor.

And one thing she looked up was sexual positions, especially those designed to increase the enjoyment of the act, foreplay, and everything else involved in the act. Just like a teenager would, who'd just been introduced to sex, and wanted to make the most of it.

Rose was experienced enough to know that most of it was bogus, mostly designed to sell adult toys, or promote adult websites. But she lingered on those, just as a teenage girl might…

Ragnar came in from his training session. "So, they've gifted us with a terminal. That's good. Have you found out anything of interest?" Meaning Brother Smith and his organization. He came over and looked over her shoulder. When he saw what she was looking up, he recoiled slightly. "Kim…"

She took a piece of paper and quickly wrote, _it's for our cover, dammit!_ Aloud. "Collin, you're exhausted. Go on and shower off. I'll join you in a moment."

He found himself fervently hoping she didn't mean that literally.

Meanwhile, back in his office, the being calling himself "Brother Smith" smiled a smile like oil on water. He didn't need a terminal to know what the young woman calling herself "Kim DeMato" was looking up, and really didn't need the security cameras to spy on their activities. Had Rose known the full extent of his knowledge of them, she would have terminated the mission right then. But she didn't.

Again, a smile like oil on water. The girl was perfect. She'd do nicely.

…..

As Rose had predicted, there were layers upon layers of encryption designed to keep out anyone without clearance. And full clearance she didn't yet have.

But by working through proxy servers, utilizing knowledge she'd acquired from one of the finest covert warriors alive, plus her own experience, as well as that she'd acquired during her association with Nightwing, she was able to break into the organization's sealed files. What she found was…disturbing.

Smith's organization extended across the nation. She'd been prepared for that, and so wasn't surprised. But what did surprise her was the extent to which Smith's people really believed in their Messiah.

This was not brainwashing, not in the accepted sense. She could detect no indication of any sort of mind control, or even efforts at such. There were no (so far as she could tell) signs of such things as drug use, suspicious electronic equipment, or any indication of any sort of repeated indoctrination procedures(s). Normally, unless extranormal powers were employed, most brainwashing methods depended upon a system of repeated commands, sometimes backed up by pharmaceutical reinforcement, with, occasionally, electronic measures used to reinforce the message and make sure there was no misunderstanding, and that commands and orders were obeyed without question. There was no evidence of that in Smith's organization. None.

Which left the possibility of those "extranormal powers" she'd considered. It was clear that Brother Smith could tell things about people, at a distance, and that he had no trouble "reading" those in his vicinity. He'd pretty much hit the nail on the head when he'd told her about "someone in Ragnar's past"…he couldn't possibly know about M'gann, but just the fact that he knew what he did was enough.

And, as a control feature, he'd instituted her to service him, sexually. That thought caused her to do a slow burn. Typical patriarchal condescending male: the woman is the reward. Do the right thing, you get to dip your wick. And yet, she reminded herself, Smith hadn't _started_ that; it was a process as old as human consciousness itself. Ever since man had been living in caves, the reward of the strong, the survivors, was the "right" to reproduce. There was only one way to do that.

Smith _had_ however, used it in his system. Nor was their particular case all that unique: on a number of occasions, staff members who did well were often paired with one or more extremely attractive and evidently willing young women. But it was invariably the males…she couldn't find any similar system of reward aimed at the female staff members. That, of course, did nothing to relieve her temper.

What was it with these young women? Didn't they have any self-respect? Did they see themselves as just tools, pieces of meat, of the organization to ensure quality work and compliance? Or was something else at work, here?

Rose knew, of course, that there were many young women who had no problem with using their sex to advance themselves in whatever situation they found themselves to be. Here at the shelter, that was by essentially becoming the concubine of someone in authority. They might or might not feel anything towards their bed partners, but that wasn't necessary, for a great many. _Simply use it._ And, Rose had to admit, most young males were more or less defenseless, to one degree or another, to such tactics. She even noticed, with some disgust, that several young women, in their late teens and early twenties, were paired with young boys, of high school age. Her lip curled automatically. _Bet_ _that_ _was an easy score._

And knowing what she now knew about Brother Smith, she couldn't help but believe that he'd surmised, all along, that she'd "offer" to be Ragnar's "reward."

As creepy as it was, incest-wise, had they truly been what they pretended to be- just two young people on the run with nowhere to turn and no one to trust save each other-there was no reason why it shouldn't have worked. Ragnar would be even more devoted to her than before, practically _tied_ to her, almost, not only as a brother but now as a lover, and she would pretty much be in total control of him. And what she was seeing now…Rose Wilson was no prude, but she now more than ever was glad Ragnar hadn't fallen into the clutches of one of these…these… _whores_.

As she got ready for bed that night, she went over her thoughts. It was troubling that, for all her expertise, she hadn't been able to find out very much about the man who went by the name of "Brother Smith." She had no doubt that wasn't his real name, of course. But in most cases, organizations, cults like these were centered around one strong, charismatic leader, about whom much (whether true or not) would be extremely public, all the more so for the sake of getting "recruits." But in Smith's case, there was only a vague mention of a leader, a powerful man who "knew the Truth." "Truth," in this case, was always spelled with the cap letters, but never defined to any better degree. Not publicly.

She'd already shared all that she could with Ragnar while he showered, as had become their custom, and was now getting undressed, ready to take her shower once he was through. He came out, paused briefly when he saw her near-nudity, then, with a neutral expression on his face, came and got into his bed. Rose had been told that their new quarters would have only one queen-sized bed. Of course.

And tonight was another "reward" night. As she showered off, Rose briefly thought that if he was excelling the way Brother Smith claimed he was just to get the "reward," that she would absolutely kill him, Doomsday genes or not.

But no, he was excelling because he'd been told she'd suffer if he didn't. Privately, Rose thought that was a bluff—except Brother Smith didn't seem like the sort to bluff. Ever.

Besides, Ragnar wasn't climaxing during their "lovemaking." Not once. She couldn't say the same.

So, once again in bed with him, she snuggled in closer, not only for appearance's sake, but also because the bed was so small. She _had_ to practically climb inside his skin just to keep from falling out of the bed. "Okay," he whispered, "how do we do this again?" He was still hesitant.

"Same way as last time." This time she hadn't bothered with keeping her bra on; topless wasn't so bad, and was to be sorta expected anyway. That was a point they'd already passed. She guided his hands over her breasts, showing him how he should be feeling her up, playing with her body in a way consistent with their supposed level of intimacy.

But damned if she'd go bottomless. Not without _really_ good reason. After all, there _was_ a limit. "Sooner or later, you're gonna have to be on top, you know. Most guys prefer that position." He could almost feel himself break out in a cold sweat; it was one thing to lie there and let Rose do what she knew how to do, but he wasn't at all sure _he_ could "fake it" in a believable manner. "Don't worry; I'll coach you on that, too." Once again, she began moving against him, moaning softly, as though with rising passion. And, as before, it wasn't a total act on her part. She felt a little guilty about that. After all, in a sense, she was essentially using his body to pleasure herself. With an effort, she wrenched herself back to reality. This was only pretend; she had to keep it that way. That was only professional.

Post-climax: she once again lay in his arms, murmuring to him in the darkness of the room. Any listeners would probably have thought she was simply muttering the words that come to a girl upon successful completion of the sexual act. They couldn't have been more wrong.

"…and so, we're to be moved into larger quarters, with a larger bed. One bed, I might add, though, of course, in Smith's eyes, there's no reason for two, I guess. And two terminals. I find that suspicious, all by itself."

"Why?"

"It implies you'll have use for a terminal of your own. Make no mistake: our every move, our every search, our every sign-on, will be closely monitored. Don't do anything stupid."

"I am not as unfamiliar with computers as I am with…this. I will be careful."

"Good. Now, something else to prepare for: there may be times when maybe you don't do as well as Brother Smith expects, or maybe he just decides to throw his weight around, or some other such thing. On those nights, I'll probably be instructed to 'have a headache.' So, no pretend sex that night. Just so's you know. In fact, that might be a good thing, really, since it'll give you—give us-some idea as to the range of Smith's expectations of you…."

"'have a headache'?"

"Yeah. Ancient female tactic for evading having sex with her partner that night. Oh, I won't _actually_ _have_ a headache, you understand, that'll just be, you know, a code-word. And I'm not saying it'll be a _headache,_ necessarily…it might be, oh, 'I just don't feel well, tonight, Collin,' or something along those lines...anyway, when that happens, you're supposed to be, like, heartbroken, frustrated, maybe beg me a little…"

"Kim," his tone of voice caused her to look up. "I WILL NOT beg you. Not for that. Do not expect it. I don't care if it does blow our cover, I won't do it."

"Alright, alright, already! Just…act very disappointed. That'll have to do." Sigh. Jesus H. Christ. Of all the partners in the world, she hadda get stuck with…with…

 _Him._

"Okay. Now, I've already gotten a good look at the structural command of Smith's organization, and it's big. Too big to have been the product of just a few years. I'm thinking decades, maybe even longer. Which means Smith got a head start a _long_ time ago. But what I'm _not_ finding are any indications of what we're looking for: no indications of standard brainwashing equipment, no trace of the sorts of drugs normally used for such things…the drugs found in the bodies of those kids…there's no indication of them. And I've dug deep. You can't just buy drugs like that, even on the black market, and there be no record of it.

"So I'm thinking maybe it's not a drug, not in the accepted sense of the word. Smith's no normal man. He can tell, for example, that there's someone in your past, an extremely painful memory, although, of course, he doesn't know any details. But he knows. I think that might've been one reason he's having me do…this…to, to…"

"Help me get over this person in my past?" Was that a half smile on his face? The urge to absolutely murder him flickered through her mind for a brief moment. She could always blame it on PMS.

"Yeah, well, whatever. But my point is, he knows. He's either extremely good at reading people, or, or he has some kind of power. I wouldn't discount the latter."

"I see." Then he unexpectedly rolled her over on her back. "Wh-what are you-*"

"Sh," he said. "You've asked me to trust you. Now you trust me. Okay?" And he positioned himself over her _just so,_ his body between her legs, in a reasonably good imitation of what his position would be were he to be "on top," but without actually touching her, and began moving in the same way she'd shown him. She lay back, just like a woman whose man has mounted her and was beginning his penetration of her, hands to either side of her head, looking up at him. Okay, so far, so good…he wasn't actually touching her, even through the fabric of their underwear….

His actions brought his head down close to hers, and he moved his mouth towards her ear, as though to nibble on it. Quite believable, actually. The boy was a better actor than she'd given him credit for, and he was a quick learner….

" _You've got to get out of here,"_ he whispered into her ear, far too low to be heard by the audio pickups. She could barely hear him herself, and his mouth was practically on her earlobe.

" _What? Why?"_

" _You know I'm good with puzzles, right? Brother Smith has done a great deal to tie me to you, to strengthen whatever bonds we were supposed to have, even to the point of providing us with our own room, and, and each other, for, for sex. You think he planned that. I agree._

" _But he's made no real effort to bind you to him. That's coming. He wants to tie me to you…but what's to tie you to him? And I'm thinking it could easily be something nasty. Especially if he does have some sort of paranormal power. It could be anything from drugs you may have missed, or, or direct mind control. Or even something stranger. But it will come. And soon. And because of that, you have to get out of here."_

Rose felt a chill run down her arms. It made sense: Brother Smith seemed determined to irrevocably bind them both directly into his organization. He wouldn't put them in the position of authority he kept promising without some controls. So far, Rose ("Kim DeMato") was supposed to be the control for her bear-killing brother. But what would control _her_ , bind her to Brother Smith?

What would he most likely use? Not sex; if he offered her her choice of any of the young men in the place, that could easily lead to problems between her and "Collin." So, no, not sex. What was left? Money? Unlikely. Authority, power? They were already being promised that. Physical force? Not with "Collin" by her side.

But Rose could easily imagine some pretty scary possibilities.

And she knew about Ragnar's almost legendary ability to solve puzzles. According to Aqualad, he'd first arrived on Earth, he'd solved a Rubic's Cube in under five seconds, having never seen one before. When asked, he'd replied that the solution was "obvious." So if he sensed something like what he was talking about, there was a very good chance he was right. _"What about you?'_

" _You leave me. I'll stay here. You just disappear, I don't know where you've gone, maybe this whole thing has, what was that expression you used the other day? 'Weirded you out?' Or something like that. I'll stay here, and try to find out more about this organization from the inside."_

She shook her head slightly, making sure he felt it. _"No way. I'm not leaving my partner, and I'm not abandoning the mission."_

" _Nobody's saying abandon it. You just go, then re-infiltrate the shelter as somebody else, no relation to me. My ring can teleport you to any place on Earth you want to go, and scramble the security cameras on this whole floor at the same time. You get on the outside, regroup, and come back in."_

Again a very slight shake of her head, even as he moved a bit faster against her, working his way towards what would seem to be a climax to any observers. _"No. I'm not abandoning you here. I don't care how good you are with puzzles, or how powerful you may be, this isn't something you can just figure your way through. And if he does have some sort of power, you could be in danger. We need to watch each other's back."_

" _I'm fairly sure there's not a lot he can do to me. Doomsday genes, remember? I can adapt to almost anything he's got, I'm pretty sure. But you could be…seriously hurt. I don't want that."_

She smiled and shook her head again, very slightly. _"I thought you didn't like me."_

" _That's irrelevant. I don't want to see you hurt. You say we're to watch each other's backs. This is how I'm trying to watch yours."_

She actually pulled him a little closer, and it wasn't an act. _"No. Remember, I'm in charge of this mission. Your points are well-taken and noted, but no. I'm not leaving you here. So that's final. I'll just have to be careful._

" _We both will."_

He sighed in resignation, continuing to move against her, faster and faster. Rose noted that at no time had he actually rubbed up against her; he'd maintained a certain slight distance between his body and hers. Maybe a half an inch or so. Or more. He was maintaining his professional level of detachment admirably, but it only served to make her feel all the more guilty for those few times she'd inadvertently climaxed while moving against him. _"Very well. I acknowledge your leadership. But I will strive my utmost to keep you safe, whether you regard it as 'patronizing' or not. You can order me not to all you want; I will still do what I feel I need to do."_ Now she nodded against him. Okay, she guessed she'd have to be okay with that much. Now he moved faster, evidently approaching what any onlookers would assume to be a climax. _"Well, here I go. What were those sounds you recommended I make, earlier?"_

… _._

In his office, the person others knew as "Brother Smith" soaked in the lovely _emotions_ all around him and smiled. He actually loved his people, in his own way. He knew the two newest ones, who called themselves "Kim and Collin DeMato" were almost certainly "moles." He didn't care. It really didn't matter. He could've given them both offices right underneath his own desk, let them hear and see everything he did, and it _still_ wouldn't matter. Not a bit.

He sighed. The boy would have been perfect, but…his biology wasn't right. Not truly human, and not stable. He was probably from some other world. In any case, he was useful, but not vital. The girl, however, was different. She was in excellent physical shape, far better than she pretended to be, and she was completely human. That made a big difference.

She was perfect. Yes. Perfect. He could hardly wait.

 _To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14: A Long Look Back

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 14: A Long Look Back

….

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Please read and review!_

… _.._

A Long Look Back

Roy Harper was sweeping up in the kitchen. He'd just taken the garbage out, and put away the food canisters, carefully labelling the zip-lock bags with the date and time. One thing his "boss" had stressed (quite _strenuously,_ Roy thought) was that, under no circumstances would a surprise inspection by the Board of Health find _any reason_ to issue any citations. He, the boss, would take it out of Roy's hide if they did.

 _You just try,_ thought Roy, even as he knew he couldn't display his full fighting skills here, for so little reason. But he could fantasize.

He left the dining hall, being careful to turn the lights out behind him, and locking the door, as always. Even though he'd only been here three weeks, he'd already been trusted with the keys to the pantry. That was actually a singular honor: the last person to be so trusted had ended up sneaking in and raiding the fridge in the middle of the night. Such behavior was not tolerated.

So he locked the dining hall behind him, and turned to go down the hallway towards the quarters he'd been assigned to sleep in. He'd already made note of Ragnar and Rose's dining habits; it wouldn't be difficult to leave them a coded message that he was on the premises, and establish some means of covert communication.

He had not the slightest inkling he was being watched, not until the blow from behind rendered him unconscious.

….

Oa: **{{Are we then certain, my brothers and sisters?}}**

 **{{As certain as we can be, Brother Ganthet**

…

Forty million miles away: M'gann M'orzz was preparing for her rest period, that corresponded to the human sleep cycle. As before, she wished she had some mementos of her life on Earth, to give the room she'd been allotted some _personality._ In particular, she wished she had some memento of a certain Gold Lantern.

But of course that could not be. Not only would such items distract her from the concentration she was supposed to be learning to exert here, but nobody knew if, say, Ragnar's picture would have the same effect on her as his physical presence. If so, then it would certainly disturb her concentration.

For about the millionth time (it seemed), she admired the ring on her finger. Fitting, in a way: Ragnar Rok was a ring-wielder, even if no-one really knew what his particular color actually meant. It didn't matter. He used a power ring. And he'd gifted her with a ring of her own, to remember him by.

From what Arisia had said, he was currently on some sort of undercover assignment for the Team, and so was out of communication. But, she said, as soon as they both could, he intended to "upgrade" that promise ring to another type of ring altogether. The thought made her sort of dizzy.

Although M'gann was a full fifty-three Earth years old, Martians do not mature at the same rate as humans do. This was further complicated by the fact of her exile, a choosing of her parents to prevent her from the repercussions of the war between the white Martians and the Green ones. The result of these two influences was that a great deal of her socialization was brought about by her limited contact with either the Team members, or her friends at school, or, and what proved to be worse, her fixation on the old Earth sitcom _Hello, Megan!_ She'd become fascinated with the program, and devastated when it was cancelled, unconsciously basing a great deal of her character on the lead actress, Marie Logan. It wasn't until coming to Earth and actually interacting with Earth humans that she began to learn that there were some basic differences between television and real life.

Her time with the Team had caused her to mature a great deal, it was true. She'd suffered a great deal of pain—only part of it physical—and had learned to handle herself better in social situations, though she did still make some mistakes, some of them spectacular.

Such as the time when she'd, as a joke, thrown a pie into Rose Wilson's face. She'd thought it would be funny, but to Rose, it was anything but. The sheer venom of Rose's thoughts had almost driven her to forgo human company altogether, and just live the life of a hermit. But she was too young and resilient to be depressed by that for long, and had returned with the others to the world of humans during a time of crisis, when she'd been needed.

Now she wasn't sure what life held for her. True, if she could get rid of the implanted meme in her head, then…she could fully return Ragnar's affections, and, oh, how she longed to. But she was coming to wonder if it would ever happen.

More and more she thought about that means of "reality selection" the ancient mathematician-priest Klarkash-Ton had discovered. It was no wonder why no one had ever used it, save that one time, and that had nearly ended in disaster on a cosmic basis. Could it be that it might pose the only hope for them to be together?

No, surely not. There had to be less _drastic_ measures.

She got changed, really more a matter of psionically rearranging her clothes along with her harness, and prepared for bed. It had been a long, hard day. Even the Martian Elders, the Mystics themselves, had been impressed by her progress.

But Bertron's science was still formidable. So far, it had proven itself a match for even the mystic might of the Martian Elders.

She lay back, closing off her mind from the Martian community mind, preparing for her sleep time. She had taken, at this time, to reliving the good old days, before Bertron and the horror he'd inflicted on her, when she and Ragnar were…together. And she wondered: had they done all they could have done? She found herself wishing they'd had more experiences, simply done more things for her to remember, now in this, this desert of her life.

Suddenly, completely unbidden, there came into her mind an image of Ragnar Rok, her love, in bed with none other than Rose Wilson herself, and the two of them locked in an _extremely_ _intimate_ and unmistakable embrace. So sudden and shocking was this mental image, that M'gann sat up suddenly, as though jolted by some unseen electrical device. How…? Where…? What…? Where had _that_ come from?

Of course. She was, albeit subconsciously, reliving her past memories, and painful memories tend to resurface when one least wants them to. Her naïve jest, with the pie, had come back to haunt her, and at the same time as she was trying to remember all the good times she'd had with Ragnar. Naturally, the two should intermingle, becoming something far worse than even the scorching memory of Ravager's words (and thoughts). Naturally. It was just a stray thought, and she should put it out of her head, utilizing some of the same techniques the Mystics had taught her. It was just a bad thought, not even a memory. She knew how to excise such.

So why did it take so long, and so much effort, to get rid of it?

…..

Out around the orbit of Saturn: Thaal Sinestro waited, with his entourage, monitoring the presence of the space rock Smith had said would impact the earth. Indeed, it was on a collision course with the planet, but the two wouldn't collide for over a decade. That was too long for Smith's plans.

So the yellow lanterns had altered the asteroid's vector and velocity ever so slightly, all the while concealing it from Earthly sensors. As it stood, the space rock should impact the planet within the week.

Arkillo had just returned from a mission Sinestro had sent him on. "It is as you surmised, Master. Throughout all our contacts, those worlds with whom we have dealings, there are reports of dream disturbances, of those sensitive to metaphysical matters sensing something…amiss. Yet none are able to specify as to just what it is, even under torture. Only a nameless dread. Of what, none can say."

Sinestro rubbed his chin. "There is yet something else. Something you hesitate to mention."

"Only because I do not see how it could possibly relate, Master."

"Let me decide that."

"Very well. You know we have agents in deep space." Sinestro nodded; the accords with the Guardians forbade piracy by the yellow lanterns, but said nothing about what the yellow lanterns could _do with pirates_. Pirates were often good sources of fear, and they frequently had cargoes of sufficient value that it made confiscation worthwhile. "It seems certain of our agents have reported temperature increases in deep space, far from any source of heat."

Sinestro thought about that one. It was completely and totally unexpected, but he did not let Arkillo know that he knew nothing about such a thing. "I see. And our agents' explanation for this?"

"Ah…none, Master. They have searched for any source of radiation, gamma ray bursts, pulsars, rogue black holes, quantum fluxuation, gravitational anomalies that might cause hydrogen fusion. There is nothing. Only random patches of empty space are…becoming hotter. There appears to be no explanation for this."

"And your own speculations upon this matter?" Lyssa Drak had drifted closer, upon hearing their conversation.

"None, Master. I myself have searched for any and all possible explanations. The only possible explanation I can even speculate upon is…we may be dealing with something outside the boundaries of science."

Lyssa Drak spoke up for the first time since the conversation began. "He…may have a point, my Lord. I, too, have sensed…something."

"I trust you can be a _bit_ more precise than that."

"At this point, My Lord, no. I cannot be."

…

Roy Harper gradually came to in a dimly lit room. He was securely tied, both wrists bound behind him, and his ankles and knees tied together. Whoever had tied him thus knew what they were doing.

"You're awake. Good. We can begin." Roy looked up, expecting to see one of the shelter thugs, but instead saw a dark-skinned man, dread-locked hair tied back behind his head, wearing what appeared to be a tan trench coat. "Who're you?" he asked, still a bit groggy from the blow. But even through the lifting haze over his thoughts, the realization came to him: _dangerous._

"I'm the one who'll be asking you the questions. That's all you need to know for now. Now. I would know who you are working for. I know who you _aren't_ working for, but that isn't what I need to know."

"What makes you think I'll tell you?"

"Oh, you'll tell me." The dark man held up his right hand, and Roy Harper saw the one thing in all the world that could bring a cold sweat to his brow. For extending up beyond the man's finger were microfine _cilia_ , moving on their own in the still air of the room. "One way or another, you'll tell me."

…..

The new room was certainly spacious, and Rose wasted no time in getting them moved in. Ragnar, with typical male indifference, just threw down his bags over by the wall next to the flatscreen. They had two terminals, each of them in a corner of the room next to the foot of the bed, which proved to be nice and comfortable. A big step up from the twin beds they'd been assigned to previously.

"Aren't you going to put anything up?" she asked him.

He looked at the bags on the floor. "Put anything up? What do you mean?"

"I mean _,_ _idiot_ , like hanging your clothes up, putting your underwear in the drawer…you know, little things like that."

"Oh. Okay." And he began to hang his clothes up, throwing his underwear and socks into the handiest drawer he could find….

"No, no, no. You need to _organize_ better. Here." And she started to show him how to separate his socks from his underwear, separating the shirts from the pants, all the while he clearly chafed. Was this really necessary? "Yes, it is," she said, answering his unspoken question. He started, looking at her with newfound respect. "I didn't know you were a telepath."

"I'm not. I'm a woman. Same thing, sometimes."

He shrugged. "Well, anyway, I'm due for another training session. I'll be back when I get back, I guess."

"Before you go…" he paused. "I'm curious. What has Brother Smith said would happen to me if you don't perform well?"

He shifted uncomfortably, looking away and down at the floor. "He's never actually said. He has implied, rather heavily, at times, that something…very unpleasant might befall you if I do not meet his expectations."

So she was essentially being held hostage, to Ragnar's good behavior. "Sometime, you might need to throw the match, to see what would happen. We might need to know."

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I cannot do that."

She got up and crossed over to him, and, taking his head in her hands, forced him to look her in the eyes. "Look. That's all very noble of you an' all, but this is, essentially, a kind of war. We need to know what his capabilities are. So stop trying to protect me, okay? I'm not some shrinking violet. You'd be surprised at the things that've happened to me…and I'm still alive and kicking." He still wouldn't meet her gaze. "Oh, go on before you're late. But we will have to have this out, later."

While he was out, she went over the room. As expected, there were the usual voice pickups, this time one in the bathroom, and two underneath the bed itself. _The bed we're supposed to share,_ she thought to herself, with a mental _tsk._ That was one development she'd not anticipated. Neither had 'Wing.

As she was going over the room's internal surveillance systems, she came across something that raised the hackles on the back of her neck. These weren't the usual low-res cheap video cams she'd found in the previous room. Oh, no. These were high-res _thermal imaging_ cameras.

Oh, shit.

 _Thermal imaging_ cameras, especially high-resolution ones, were quite capable of seeing _right through_ the sheets and bedcovers they'd been using to shield their nocturnal activities, see _right through_ them and see _exactly which body part went where,_ and _what it did there._ There'd be no faking it with _these_ cameras.

Which meant the mission itself had just been given an expiration date.

She'd have to tell him about this. Fortunately, the audio pickups didn't seem to be any more sensitive than the previous ones.

That evening, when he came in, sweaty but not exhausted (she guessed he had his Doomday-ish genetic heritage to thank for that; a straight human would probably have been pounded down. But ever since the incident with the bear, he'd gotten stronger, so it seemed, with each passing day. One good thing about their supposedly intimate relationship: she could freely search his body for signs of transfiguration. Nightwing had mentioned that indications of such changes were almost of as much importance as the mission itself. Maybe more so. So far, however, she hadn't found any), and headed straight for the shower. After a moment, she screwed up her courage and followed him. How best to put this?

"Collin?" She insisted on using their "cover" names, not because she felt those in charge were under any serious illusions as to the fact that such names were bogus, as it was so as to _not_ to use their _real_ names. The enemy might know they _weren't_ who they said they were, but they didn't know who they _were._ Keeping that bit of information secret could prove valuable. "I, uh, have some bad news."

A sigh from inside the shower stall. "There seems to be no other kind, these days."

"Yeah. Well, uhm, it's this. Well. The good news is the audio pickups in here aren't any better than they were in the old room."

"And the bad news?"

"The video pickups are. They're thermal-imaging sensors. High-res thermals, too."

Pause. "Meaning?"

"Meaning…" She drew a deep breath, "our, uh, little play-acting won't work anymore."

Silence from within the shower. Then, "So what do we do?"

She studied her hands, sitting on the toilet. "There's only two choices. Either…either we stop play-acting, or we have to abort the mission."

"Stop play-acting?"

"Yeah. I mean…dammit, this is hard for me to say…we…really do it. You know. Really have sex. And," she said, before he could say anything, "I know how you feel about that. But it's either that, or….we just call off the whole mission, abort it and get out of here. Frankly, that's probably best anyway. I'm not finding anything out, anyway."

Still more silence from within the shower. "Of course, you do understand, don't you, that, that if we did do it, have sex, I mean, it wouldn't mean anything, right? It would just be an act, just like what we've been doing, only a little more involved…but it wouldn't mean anything. To either of us.

"And, and, there is a possible third alternative: you could climax between my legs. Not up in me, just…you know. If it came up, we could just say we were practicing some form of birth control. You know, brother, sister, don't want any preg-*"

"No."

She blew out a sigh. "That's what I thought you'd say. But, really, it's okay. I'm not getting anywhere anyway. I can't even find where the paper files are supposed to be, so I can't just burgle those. So, tomorrow night, between midnight and two, shift change, we'll both sneak out of here. I'll explain the whole fiasco to Nightwing, an' take the hit."

He stopped washing off momentarily at her words. "What do you mean, 'take the hit'?"

"Well, I mean, there will be repercussions. Nothing major. Just…well, it's complicated. It probably won't have any effect on my standing in the covert ops community—well, okay, it will, but that can't be helped, and, except for those operations that go really high-level, there shouldn't be any-*"

"What do you mean by 'take the hit'?" he pressed.

"Look. I'm responsible for this mission. That's why Nightwing put me in charge of it in the first place. And I've found out a whole lot of nothing. So that's gonna reflect poorly on me. Why? Did you think it _wouldn't_? Why did you think I've been after you so hard? Just because I felt like it?"

"You never told me my actions would have consequences for you."

"For a guy who's good with puzzles, you're a little slow on the uptake. What part of 'it's my responsibility' didn't you understand?" He didn't say anything. "It won't be…much." It hurt her to say it; Rose took these assignments very seriously, no matter how small or inconsequential they might be. Given her training under Deathstroke, she'd never had any other choice. "My rep may take a small hit, there may be some loss of face…you know, the usual stu-*"

" _Loss of_ _face?_ "

"Far eastern term." She didn't bother to explain further, being too caught up in the escape plans. She did have one last trick up her sleeve that might yield some results…

"Kim?"

"Huh? Yes?" She was irritated that he'd interrupt her now, as she was preparing their escape and evasion plan.

"How…how, uhm, how exactly would we go about doing…that?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, _moron_. Now shuddup and listen…"

"Not that. The…other."

"What other? What are you talk—*" And then it hit her what he meant. "Uh…you mean…intercourse? For real?"

"Yes." The word was obviously pulled unwillingly out of him.

"Uh, Collin?" Even if they were "made," keeping their true names under wraps could serve to give them an advantage. Nobody could prepare for Ravager and Ragnar unless they _knew_ to prepare for Ravager and Ragnar, "what, er, what made you all of a sudden rethink your position on that?"

"You will _not_ lose any more of your face than you already have, not if I have anything to say about it!"

For a brief moment, Rose was silent, shocked. Then she started laughing. He stopped bathing—he'd long ago accomplished all the cleaning he needed to do, and was still in the shower only because they were talking and needed the cover—and sat on the tiny ledge on the opposite side of the shower stall. It wasn't nearly big enough for a seat, and he had to keep pushing himself into the wall with his legs. Now what was she laughing about? How much longer was he going to be trapped in this insane circus with a, a, _person_ like this?

"'Loss of face,' _stupid,_ doesn't mean I'd lose part of my actual _face._ It just means my reputation wouldn't be as good as I'd like it to be. It happens sometimes. What? Were you really thinking somebody was gonna cut part of my _face_ off?"

"I…I didn't know." He stared down at his feet. There were tiny bumps, just behind his toes. Fascinated, he watched them….

"What're you doing in there so long? Like I have to ask." Another inexplicable remark from this hateful creature he was stuck with. If she didn't have to ask, why was she asking? Sometimes it seemed like they were speaking two different languages.

"Nothing. I…there are some bumps on my toes…"

Instantly, she swept the shower curtain aside. "Ro-, I mean KIM! What're you do-*"

"Shuddup and lemme see your feet." She ignored the rest of him, even as he used his hands to cover his most intimate portion of his anatomy from her sight. She picked up first one foot, then the other, realizing he was holding himself in place with his legs. "Hm. Nothing there now." And it was true. The bumps—if they'd ever been there—had receded back into his feet.

She climbed into the shower stall with him, fully clothed, and sat on the edge of the stall, the water splashing on her a little. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but comfort was the furthest thing from her mind right then. She ran her hands up and down his chest, paying special attention to the area between his pectoral muscles. "Hm. I don't feel any indication of any developing ridge or anything." She probed over his heart. "That plate you developed in still there, though, right where the Joker stabbed you. That sure wouldn't work again. Besides, you don't X-ray anymore-*" Which was true. X-Rays of Ragnar Rok came back whited out, just a silhouette, with no useable information whatsoever—"so I'm guessing even the sharpest knife blade would probably snap on your skin anyway." The consensus of the group was that their own Ragnar Rok was in the process of becoming a kind of junior version of Doomsday. But how far would the process go? "Haven't been having any mood swings lately, have you?" She was still seated on the knife-edged shower stall enclosure, an expression of concern on her face.

"No more than I understand are usual. Uh, Kim? Are you going to sit there much longer?" He was still covering up.

"No, I guess this is pretty much it." She stood up, her clothes partially wet from the shower water splashing off him and onto her. "Look, don't be embarrassed by this. You're not the first guy I've examined. There's nothing unusual about it, at least not so far…unless there is? Remove your hands and let me see."

"No!"

"Oh, come on. I'm not asking for impure reasons here. But you _are_ an alien. Er, do you differ from human males in…that area?"

"I, I…"

"You've never seen any human males down there, yeah, that's what I thought. Well, look," she climbed out of the shower stall, "I mean, when you first came here, somebody examined you, didn't they? They didn't remark on anything uhm, _unusual_ , did they?"

"No…"

"And you haven't changed, have you? Well, okay. That's really all I needed to know." She turned away, allowing him to sweep the shower curtain back into place. "This kind of examination, _Collin_ , isn't done just because. You know the reason why we…need to know these things.

"Frankly, this thing about mood swings concerns me more than any physiological changes. You say you've had none? No feelings of intense rage?"

He'd pulled on his shorts and climbed out of the shower stall, joining her in the comparatively spacious room they'd been assigned to.

"No more so than usual," he said, giving her a look. _But it seems like every time you open your mouth, I just want to-*_

She rubbed her face tiredly, completely missing his unspoken rejoinder. At least tonight wasn't a "reward" night, and they could both get some rest. "Well, okay. But if you do, you be sure to let us know, okay? Let _somebody_ know." Abruptly, she came into his arms, playing the role of the loving, incestuous sister. "I know you can hardly stand me, but just trust me on this, okay? I'm on your side. I know what it's like to not always be in total control of yourself. If you find yourself… _transforming_ …either physically or, and this is the important part: _emotionally_ , you need to let someone know. If not me, somebody else." She looked up at him, her expression dead serious. "I mean, really. If you do transform, and, and lose control, you could hurt somebody. Maybe M'gann. I know you wouldn't want that."

He sighed. She was right, as usual. That didn't make him like her any more. "Alright. I'll…be more observant, in the future. Now. What were your plans for our escape?"

…..

Roy Harper was covered in cold sweat. He knew exactly what those cilia were for.

If he didn't talk, his captor would insert those cilia directly into his brain, his central nervous system, and simply read his mind, in a manner of speaking. How much of his mind would be left after this procedure was dependent upon the technique employed. Worst case scenario: not much. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know who you're working for. You aren't here in the service of my enemy; so whose service are you in?"

"That's classified information."

The dark-skinned man approached him. "Then I'll just _de_ -classify it." Again he raised the cilia-sprouting hand…

"But one thing I can tell you. Each of us have been equipped with a kind of self-destruct mechanism. Try anything like a direct read of my brain, like you seem to be threatening, and that mechanism will kick in, effectively wiping my brain."

The dark man stopped. "You're bluffing."

"Try me."

The dark man stopped and sat down on a box near Roy. "Alright. Let's assume, for the moment, that I believe you. You won't tell me who you work for. Do you know who you're working _against?_ "

"You already know enough to know I'm no fan of Brother Smith. I'm certainly not here for the food."

"Do you know what he is?"

" _What_ he is? Beyond the guy who runs this place?"

"Yes. _What._ It occurs to me, that my revealing information may be nearly as effective, from the standpoint of my gathering information, as it would be to direct-read your mind.

"I don't think you have any clue as to what he truly is."

….

Upstairs, in his office: The man others called Brother Smith sat back in his chair and smiled. It had been a fruitful day.

The man, or perhaps it might be more accurately said, the _being_ that called itself "Brother Smith" had, in fact, been around quite a bit longer than humanity itself, at least, in its current form.

When consciousness first arose on Earth, it did not arise solely among those blessed with physical bodies. A collection of psionic forces had also come into being, which found itself to be thinking and self-aware. A force that fed off the life-forces of other beings. Particularly the most highly intelligent.

For eons, it drifted across the face of the globe, drawing a bit of nourishment here, siphoning off some there, and noticing that it seemed to get the most satisfying nourishment from those beings most self-aware, like itself, and those who seemed the most adaptable. At first this didn't really register with the being.

But at some point, it came to its mind that, the more _intelligent_ the life-form, the more nourishment from said life-form it got. Perhaps there could be a way to maximize this?

Purely as an experiment (and because it had nothing better to do), it began to experiment with the lifeforms of the planet's surface. Many were too inflexible, although some showed promise. There were several of the large lizards that it looked at, but then a pesky meteorite put an end to that line of inquiry. The being lacked the ability to do anything about such matters, and could only watch as a whole ecosystem vanished, virtually overnight. But then came other ages. The large, woolly ones with the manipulating digit in the front of their faces at first seemed likely, but their biology proved to be self-limiting. There was only so much it could do with them, as was true of the tentacled ones that lived in the seas. It seemed that the better adapted a life form was to its environment, the less it needed intelligence. So perhaps that was the key? Look for a life form not very well adapted to its environment? Maybe.

The biped, the hominids attracted its attention. Now, here was a genotype that showed distinct promise.

So it began to cultivate them, much as a farmer would crops. It stood to reason that the strong, the most able-bodied, would contribute the most to the species, so it instituted a system of warfare, skirmishes, in which the strong were pitted against the strong. Those who survived were the strongest, and the sentient entity that would someday be called Brother Smith studied this phenomena. It just made sense that the strongest should procreate more than their weaker fellows, and so Brother Smith arranged for the taking and impregnation of the conquered females by the conqueror strong. Of course, many of said females did not _wish_ to be impregnated by those who'd taken them in battle, a fact Brother Smith couldn't understand, but when it came to the survival and betterment of the species, that was hardly of any significance, any more than the seeding and breeding of plants would be to a human farmer.

And it was really not difficult to arrange for many females to find the conqueror males attractive (or, at least, useful), in many of the desperate, poverty-stricken times in which they lived, and so such forcible conjoinings were not usually all that necessary, anyway. But the option was there for Brother Smith to use, should it decide to.

Slowly, gradually, Brother Smith had guided its chosen species towards the peak of evolutionary achievement. It wasn't an easy course, and, over the course of time, the definition of "strongest" had changed, too. Now intelligence was valued highly, so Brother Smith saw to it that rewards went to the smartest, most capable members of the tribes. All the while, guiding humanity towards that pinnacle…

The detonation of the nuclear bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki came as a complete and total surprise to the being. Its attention must have wandered; it had had absolutely no forewarning whatsoever. But Brother Smith was afraid, very afraid, for its created race. They'd crafted weapons that could end life on Earth completely. How had this happened?

Almost in a panic, the being scanned the minds of the most intelligent individuals, taking time to separate those in a position of authority from those who simply suspected. What it found was disturbing.

Nuclear power was rapidly becoming a very real thing, and, while the being that would someday be called "Brother Smith" had nothing personally against nuclear energy, the widespread use of it presented problems. There were too many variables; too much was unknown. There were altogether too many who were altogether too willing to weaponize fissionable materials, so serious steps had to be taken to keep this matter from coming to a head. So it embarked on a course of action that would be sure to severely limit the useage of such powers.

A planted notion there, a stray thought here, an "arranged" accident—nothing major, just a warning—there, and the humans took it from there, denouncing nuclear power and spreading tales of its unreliable and dangerous nature. Perhaps in time, it could relinquish control over that aspect, and allow humans to explore the benefits of such cost-effective energy sources, but not just yet.

It still needed to be on the lookout for new human bodies to feed off of, and to inhabit, when the time came. It had already lived in the form of the one known as "Brother Smith" for a number of years, and had learned to get others to come to _it._ Perhaps not the most intelligent, but they made up for it in quantity.

These last two supplicants, now. Yes, Brother Smith had big plans for them. He had known from the first that they were not siblings, that the boy wasn't even from Earth. But he was here with his partner, and felt responsible for her. Brother Smith could make use of that. While his relationship with the girl was…uncertain, at times, he nonetheless had the urge in him to _protect the female._ So protect her he would.

The girl now…

She was perfect. Except for that tiny defect of her missing eye, she was flawless, both in mind and body. Brother Smith really couldn't understand why the two had steadfastly refused to mate. He'd certainly given them every opportunity and encouragement, and then some. It would be so ideal if they could produce some strong children to further better the species. But for some reason, they seemed unwilling to, and he couldn't fathom why. Human concepts such as "morality" and "love" were a closed book to the being known as Brother Smith. How could anything done for the good of the species be anything other than good?

But they'd withheld, even though he could tell it was a strain on them, and on their relationship with each other. The girl was already attracted to the boy on a purely physical level, and was disguising that with a series of insults and an overall attitude of disrespect and mild hostility. But that was just the surface….

His plan was very simple, and as such, subject to minor alterations as needed. Promote them into positions of authority, so that when, not if, civilization collapsed, they'd serve as his personal assistants. It wouldn't matter if they were working for somebody else, especially if the "somebody else" became a casualty in the chaos Smith was instrumental in causing. They'd follow him simply to help maintain order, what with the very real possibility of riots in the streets, and the collapse of the social order. Already, in some places, people didn't trust the police—sometimes with good reason. Give them a reasonable alternative, then. Open market system; a little competition might be good all around.

With them by his side, and with power of this lovely but not really necessary yellow ring he'd acquired from the one known as "Sinestro," they could restore order, installing himself as the ruler of a true hegemony. And why should it stop there?

Give these two a few successful battles together, and their relationship with each other could easily change. Vastly experienced, Brother Smith was fully aware of how such relationships could alter with shared victory. And even if it didn't, even if they still maintained that old, outmoded and completely unfathomable way of behaving, that still wouldn't be any problem. The boy was closed to him, true, but all he had to do was tweak the girl's hormone levels a bit, and she'd be all over the lad. The boy could maintain his reluctance all he wanted to, but Brother Smith had confidence in the girl; she seemed like a resourceful young thing. She'd make it happen. Somehow.

And then, once she'd produced a few children for the race, then he could move in. Such a wonderful host body she'd make. He'd even regrow her eye for her.

He could hardly wait.

 _To be continued…._


	15. Chapter 15: First Battle

The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 15: First Battle

….

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Would be fun if I did, though._

…

Chapter 15: First Battle

Rose had discarded her disguise, as had Ragnar. Quietly, they moved down the darkened hallway; it was after hours, and everybody was supposed to be in bed. The occasional night guard would pass through, but they had timed his movements so as to avoid him.

Rose had determined that one particular room had to have whatever they were looking for. It was never opened, never used, in the experience of any of the staff they'd talked to. As far as anyone knew, it was empty. Rose didn't think so. It was home to something.

She had to find the area where the drugs were stored that had been used on the kids who'd been killed. That was the only realistic scenario. They'd already searched the dispensary, and determined that there was nothing of interest there. So they had to be kept somewhere mega-deep undercover.

They came to the corner that led to the room they sought. Backs against the wall, Rose whispered, "See that guard?" For there was a staff member positioned at a desk just outside the forbidden room.

"Of course I see him. I'm not blind."

"Shuddup. You distract-*"

" _There_ you are!" Brother Smith was just coming around the corner. "I'd _wondered_ where you two had gotten off to!" He rubbed his hands briskly, gazing at the surprised duo. "Going to make your big break for it? Well, you picked an excellent time for it. A teammate of yours is in considerable danger, and maybe setting off this powder keg will be enough to jar him loose out of the trap he's fallen into."

Rose was surprised enough that she forgot what she was about to do. "What're you-*"

"Before we continue." And Brother Smith nodded at the hallway attendant, who rose, without a word, and moved off down the hallway. His eyes seemed somewhat glassy to Rose, and he moved like a sleepwalker. "There. Gets the flotsam out of the way. Now. Before things start getting intense, I believe you were wanting to take a look at this room?" And he gestured toward the very room they had been about to invade.

…..

"So you're saying," stalled Red Arrow, "That this Brother Smith is actually a, a psychic _virus?_ "

"Perhaps 'organism' would be a better term. I have been tracking him across the millennia."

"Millennia? You don't look that old…"

"Quit stalling. You've seen my body is quite malleable; what _should_ I look like? There are mountain ranges younger than I am. Now. Are you going to tell me what I wish to know, or do I have to dig it out of your wetware?"

Roy Harper deliberated. Then, "I think I can safely say we're after the same guy. My…group…feels he has some connection with the Sinestro Corps."

"The yellow ring wielder? Yes, I surmised as much. Though I cannot fathom what _they_ would get out of any such arrangement."

"World domination? That's usually their MO."

"Maybe. But they don't know what they're really dealing with. All right," abruptly he stood up. "You've given me all I really need to know, at least for now. I'll leave you here, while I go…" he smiled slowly, "…settle some accounts. Your own people will be along shortly to free you."

"Let me help."

"You're of your league. The creature would eat your mind right out from inside your skull."

"I've got friends here. I need to warn them."

"If I succeed, there'll be no need to warn them. If I'm not, there'll be no point."

"Where's the tactical advantage in refusing additional firepower?"

"When the additional firepower would only get in the way." He narrowed his eyes. "But something tells me you'd have no trouble getting out of those bonds, were I not around to keep an eye on you. I'd rather have you go before me, than behind me, so…" A black blade snapped out from the dark warrior's hand, shearing through Roy's bonds like a razor. "But we'll do this _my_ way, or I'll just knock you out again."

 _You mean you'll try,_ thought Roy, careful not to show it in his face.

"I mean I would," replied the dark warrior.

….

"By all means, enter freely. This is where I keep some of my personal mementos."

"It's a trap," hissed Rose at Ragnar. She kept her swords at the ready, but things sure weren't going as planned.

"No," said he, scanning the room beyond the doorway Brother Smith had just opened for them. "It's a pile of junk."

Brother Smith actually had the nerve to pout. "It's not junk. All of these things are items I've collected over the years. See?" He picked up an ancient seeming rusted metal idol. "This one's a bank. You put the money in here, and there's a plate on the bottom….and take a look here." He gestured towards some porcelain plates. "Genuine Blue Willow plates. Worth quite a bit of money on today's market, if I was interested in such things…."

"Okay, _hold it!_ " Rose was determined to bring back some semblance of control to this crazy scenario. Ragnar was actually beginning to enjoy himself, albeit cautiously. It was rather amusing to see the normally unflappable Rose Wilson, the Bane Of His Life, so discomfited. "If, if you're determined to be so, so open and above-board about this, what about those dead kids?"

"They were volunteers. Oh, yes. They believed in my cause enough to sacrifice themselves in order to attract the attention of the one you call _Sinestro,_ so that I could have this." And he held up his hand, showing off the yellow ring. "It seemed like it might come in handy. After all, my goals haven't changed; society as you know it has an expiration date. Perhaps I can do something about salvaging some remnant of civilization from that apocalypse." He turned to Rose, suddenly, and she drew back slightly. He hadn't made any threatening moves, so her combat reflexes actually hadn't come into play, but she was clearly feeling attacked on one level or another. "Why didn't the two of you mate? I gave you every chance. And believe me, medical care would have been no problem. I can't speak for you, young, er, whatever you are," he said, indicating Ragnar, "but you," turning back to Rose, "whoever you are, would produce some excellent children for the benefit of the species. Why, the two of you could easily rise to positions of considerable importance, solely on your bloodline alone. It's happened before. So I'm curious: why didn't you two mate?"

Rose sputtered. Of all the ways she thought this night would go, this was definitely not one of them.

"Well, here he comes. We'll have to continue this discussion at some other time." And Brother Smith gestured….

The pair found themselves blown back into the hallway they'd just exited, the shockwave catching them both by surprise. Ragnar raised a shield with his ring, at the same time interposing himself between Brother Smith and the fallen Rose, who was struggling to rise to her feet, her hand to her head, shaking off the stun effect of the shockwave.

At that exact moment, one of Red Arrow's tear gas arrows landed at Brother Smith's feet, exploding in a cloud of noxious gas. "Oh, please," mumbled Smith, "that old trope." The gas didn't seem to affect him at all.

A figure that had been just behind the origin of the arrow now leaped forward, dark blades already extending from his arms. With a movement almost too fast to see, he swiped at Brother Smith.

Or, rather, the place where Brother Smith used to be. The portly figure moved with the speed of lightning, zipping effortlessly down the hallway, past the "secret" room. "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't destroy my treasures."

The dark warrior followed, pirouetting, like a living dervish, arm blades sizzling through the still air. For every move he made, however, Brother Smith countered it, either moving aside with a graceful ease, sometimes using the yellow ring to throw up a shield. The dark warrior's blades appeared able to slice through the yellow energy, but not without some evident effort, and this slowed him down. Still he did not let up, but continued a barrage of sword-blows and swipes, one right after the other, forcing his opponent back, ever back. Brother Smith himself swirled down the corridor in what would look like a retreat on anyone else, but he did so in such a casual way as to imply anything but. "Well, I see this night's productive conversation is effectively over with. I bid you all adieu." And thus saying, he let loose with another shockwave, more powerful than the last, which threw the assembled group back down the hallway and away from him.

When the smoke and dust cleared, all that remained of Brother Smith was a dried, desiccated husk, lying on the floor. There was no trace of the yellow ring.

The dark warrior grabbed a still semi-stunned Rose by the lapel of her uniform. "You! If you hadn't interfered, I'd have finally killed him!"

"Leave her alone!" Ragnar interposed himself between them, shoving the warrior back. "None of this is her fault!"

The dark warrior narrowed his eyes. "Don't try me, ring wielder. I'm in no mood."

Ragnar brought up his ring, looking the warrior in the eyes. "Neither am I."

For a long, long moment, the two locked gazes, taking each other's measure. Then, the dark warrior withdrew his blades. "This is pointless. The creature's escaped, again, and now I've nothing to go on." He glanced around. "And I'm hearing alarms going off, and of first responder vehicles approaching. _I_ certainly don't intend to remain here any longer. The three of you can do whatever suits your fancy." And with that, he flared a brilliant white light, and was gone.

….

Mt. Justice: Rose and Ragnar submitted their respective reports, along with Red Arrow's. It might have been Ragnar's imagination, but it seemed that Rose was a trifle subdued. A little quiet, it seemed. "Quiet" and "Rose Wilson" didn't seem to go together very well.

Well, it was over with. And all he had to do now was, make sure he was _never_ paired with this…this… _person_ ever again. He'd already informed Nightwing, _rather_ _vehemently_ , that he _never_ wished to be associated with Rose again for any reason whatsoever. Dick had just nodded, as though he'd expected something like this.

Well, this had certainly been a night. It wasn't too long until morning. While he didn't get tired in the human sense, he'd learned that his body nonetheless had a circadian pattern that benefitted from his getting a certain amount of sleep at night. That wouldn't happen tonight. Oh, well. It was a small price to pay for being rid of Rose for good.

He'd gathered his wash cloths, soap, and towel, and gone to the showers. The feel of hot water running over his skin was soothing; he wondered if the time would come when he wouldn't be able to feel hot or cold water. He hoped not, even if it was a trade-off with invulnerability.

And this was the first shower he'd been able to have in a long time without having to have any dealings or communications with that detestable Rose Wilson. What _was_ her problem? –he wondered. How could anyone be that unpleasant? Especially to people they didn't even know all that well? He had, long since, deeply regretted confiding in her his doubts about his own sanity. The nightmares hadn't ceased, but, he reasoned, he was not human, so it was quite possible human levels of sanity just didn't apply to him. And she certainly hadn't been the one to confide in, anyway. Anybody but her. He was actually surprised at the depths of his, not hatred, but certainly dislike.

Oh, well, it was ov-*

"Hope there's some hot water left," said a hatefully familiar voice right next to him. She'd entered the shower just to his left. Gods, no. Not here. Not now. Not after all this.

"The women's shower is on the other side of the hallway," he said, stiffly.

"I'm not lost." She paused while soaping up. Ragnar knew that Rose Wilson was considered extraordinarily attractive by human standards, but, even if his heart hadn't belonged to a certain green Martian girl currently forty-two million miles away, he could think of no-one on the entire planet, past, present, or future, whom he'd rather see less of. "I…I wanted to…ask you a couple of things."

"So ask." _Ask and get out._

She was silent for a few moments, going through the motions, washing off. "I know this sort of operation wasn't anything you were ever trained for. But…from your perspective, did it seem like I…overlooked anything?"

He thought. He could sense her…sincerity? Was that the word? Concern, maybe? Some emotion he wasn't able to easily identify…and there was pain in her mind, but not the same kind as before. It was not the kind he was drawn to, like a moth to a flame. Not a pain he could do anything about. And he knew she had _really tried_ with this mission, tried her best, but circumstances had just simply played out another way. "I cannot think of anything. There was evidently a lot to this 'Brother Smith' that we…were unaware of. I don't see how that was anyone's fault, certainly not yours. And I don't see how the night's misadventure could have ended more productively, what with this unknown fighter in the fray. What was Red Arrow's report on this metahuman?"

"He didn't have any more information than what he told us about. Apparently, the guy's been around a whole lot longer than any of us, and been tracking the creature we called 'Brother Smith' for a good portion of that time."

"It sounded that way." She continued washing, and turned slightly towards him. He found he didn't really care. He certainly saw nothing in her, and if, for some completely unknown reason, she wished to get a look at him (but why?), well, for all he cared, she could look all she wanted. Somehow he doubted that was it, however.

But instead, she buried her face in her hands and just stood there for a moment, turned partially away, head inclined downward, features invisible behind her hands. What was she doing? Washing her face? Then he realized something.

Rose Wilson, aka the Ravager, the tough-as-nails daughter of Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke the Terminator, was crying.

She had her head underneath the water stream, which effectively obscured the tears flowing down her face, but nothing could obscure the slight shaking of her shoulders. _Oh, no._ For some reason, this just struck him as _wrong._ He had to do something.

"Come here," he ordered, drawing her into an embrace.

"No….don't need your shoulder to cry on…."

"Who said anything about crying? I need you to check my back and shoulders for spikes. I can't see back there, you know, and my arms won't bend back that far."

She barked a laugh into his chest. "Such a _liar!_ "

"I'll get better at it. Now. Check that for me? I mean, since you're in here, anyway, bothering me…"

 _Okay, already._ Anything to keep him from laughing out loud at her. It was bad enough that all the others were sniggering at her behind her back; she honestly didn't think she could take it if this numbskull started laughing at her, too. She sighed and played along with the gag, running her fingers along his shoulders, down his spine. She came up to slightly over his chest, so it wasn't that much of a reach for her. "I don't feel anything obvious; nothing breaking the surface of the skin, and I can't feel anything unusual beneath the surface. Maybe we were all concerned over nothing." What had worried them the most was that snippet of information found on Ragnar's deserted ship, supposedly from his geneticist father, who'd claimed Ragnar possessed genetic material taken from Doomsday himself. But that was from _this_ universe's Doomsday, the killing machine, the monster without a heart.

So, yeah, it was important to keep in mind. But as she ran her hands over him, she realized something, something just as disturbing, at least, to her.

This was kinda nice.

It felt… _restful_ just to lie here, in his embrace. Comforting. The tensions of the day (and which she felt like she'd had more than her share of, lately) just seemed to melt away. Those tensions and worries would come back, she knew, but for right now, they had subsided. And she also realized something else.

She was getting wet. And not from the shower, either.

 _No, not that._ She had more pride than this. She wasn't falling for this clown, no way. It wouldn't be right, anyway. And she definitely wasn't one of those sappy girly types who just couldn't live without a man. It was just…it had been a while for her. And here she was, buck naked in a warm shower with a guy who was, yeah, okay, a bit of a stud. She was horny, that was all. Nothing more.

So, knowing it was only that, why didn't she move?

It was just so _soothing_ here. Part of her wanted to stay here forever…

For just a moment, she wrapped her arms around him, and gave him harder, more personal, hug, just for an instant. Then, with a supreme effort, she wrenched herself away from him. "Well, okay, I pronounce you good to go. Now, g'wan, gettouttahere." And she threw him his towel.

"You're running me out of the men's shower room?"

"Yeah. Go on, for Christ's sakes. Give a lady some privacy. What, don't you have any manners at all?"

He took his towel, got dressed, and exited the room, a smirk on his face he was careful not to let her see. _Okay, that was better._

 _To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16: Relationships

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 16: Relationships

….

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Wish I did. Please read and review._

… _.._

Chapter 16: Relationships

….

The creature humans had recently come to call Brother Smith drifted on the air currents overhead. He went over the previous night's incident carefully, even as he maintained his focus on both the dark warrior, the hunter from out of time, and Rose and Ragnar. He wasn't through with any of them yet.

In a way, he really did appreciate that they hadn't destroyed his collection. _I really should put them somewhere safer than that,_ he thought, _but it's never really needed to be, before. But I suppose that now, if I begin to draw the wrath of those called "super heroes," I'd best step up my security measures._ Now. What to do about those two who'd tried to infiltrate his organization?

Brother Smith saw no reason to change his goals regarding them. The female, _Rose_ was her name, would make an excellent parent, and eventually, an excellent host. Now, the boy wasn't strictly speaking human, but that most probably didn't matter; he was close enough. There were other males she associated with, ones who were completely human, and it would certainly make matters much simpler if he could work with and through one or more of them, but no. He was too stubborn and set in his ways to take the easy way out. No, he'd see to it that Rose got impregnated by the one called _Ragnar_ a few times (how many times? He didn't really know; as many times as it took, he guessed), and produced some truly remarkable children (and what a bloodline that would be! Brother Smith was almost giddy with anticipation at the thought). He could guide them, shape them, forge them into a tool to truly and effectively manage the chaotic patterns of life on this planet. Under his guidance, they'd easily surpass any of the so-called "super-heroes," becoming a force to be reckoned with, unlike the heroes, most of whom had merely fallen into their way of life, by sheer accident, and were only bumbling about, combatting this ephemeral nonsense called "crime." To Brother Smith, this was about as high a priority as an overdue library book.

And _he'd_ get to be the godfather! Imagine that! In a sense, these children would almost be his own! And oh what heights they could reach….together…this would be especially true if the young man did indeed have genes from this destroyer of worlds, this "Doomsday." From what Brother Smith had been able to find out, this alien superscientist, Bertron, had taken a baby, a baby of a man, and, over time, turned it into a monster.

He, Brother Smith, would take a monster and turn it into a man.

But before he could begin, there were some troubling issues he had to resolve. For some time now, he'd sensed the presence of an extraordinarily powerful mind somewhere on the planet, a mind of such power as to rival, if not exceed, his own. It was not the mind of one of the various enhanced beings on the Earth. It was not one he could feed upon, because of its intrinsic nature, and anyway, that would have been too close a call. Rather analogous to an Earthly lion attacking an elephant. It might work, especially if the lion knew what it was doing, but there was easier prey.

So, to this end, he'd arranged with this _Sinestro_ to have the asteroid impact the Earth. It wouldn't, of course, but its mere presence could produce the answer to many questions.

Just out beyond Earth's moon: Sinestro and company had shepherded the asteroid expertly, concealing it from the Justice League's sensors. Now Sinestro "stood" back, arms crossed, feet together, and waited. Lyssa Drak wondered what he was waiting for. "My Lord?"

"Yes?"

"At what point do we drop the illusion, and let the Earthians see the peril looming in their skies?" Arkillo overheard the exchange, and eagerly waited for the answer. It would be such fun to cause such sweet terror…

"If my suspicions are correct, Lantern Drak, that will not be necessary."

Even as he spoke, a beam of light shot forth from the center of the continent  
Earthians called Antarctica. The beam was no mere phenomenon such as light, which wouldn't be visible in space, anyway. The beam shone forth, tracking back and forth, and finally settled on the asteroid. "Master! The cloaking illusion is still in place! How can this be?"

The beam zeroed in on the asteroid, pinpointing it exactly. Then it contracted, focusing itself, becoming a laser-thin beam of indescribable brilliance, too bright to look at ….

The asteroid blew apart as if someone had set off a multitude of nuclear bombs in its interior. The three yellow lanterns threw up shields against the flying debris, none of which was larger than a man's fist.

Sinestro led his people away. He could detect the Justice League scrambling to deal with the fact of an exploding asteroid they hadn't even detected yet. "Come, Lyssa Drak, Arkillo. There is nothing more to do here, and one of my questions has been, if not answered—at the very least, reinforced."

"What might that be, my lord?"

Sinestro smiled. "In due time, my archivist, you will inscribe it in the _Book of Parallax._ But not today."

Once again, so confident were three of their invisibility, that they neglected to scan for a solitary green figure. "G'wan, you bastard," Guy Gardner checked his ring. Yep. Right on schedule a, a tracing signature of his own devising tracked the trio out into deep interstellar space...

….

The Justice League team deployed by the League to Antarctica had included Doomsday, at his eager request. Considering the power of that beam, they had certainly seen the benefits to having the Monster of Steel along with them.

Doomsday, Superman, Fire, Ice, and John Stewart, members chosen specifically due to their ability to withstand the harsh environment, had teleported in as close as the triangulated coordinates allowed them to. The sheer outpouring of energy from that one spot had bollixed up their sensors, but they still managed to get a fairly accurate fix on the location—just a little off from magnetic south.

Doomsday seemed transfixed. "Superman? Do you see what I'm seeing?"

"If you're seeing a large golden dome, then, yes, I am. You recognize this?"

But Doomsday was too busy being awestruck. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be…

He waded through the snow up to the side of the sphere, running his hand over the side. It just couldn't be….

All at once, one section of the side of the sphere wavered, like a heat mirage in the desert, and disappeared, leaving a large oval entrance into the interior of the station. A staircase apparently made of the same substance as the exterior of the sphere extended down to the surface. The others looked uneasy. What was all this?

Numbly, Doomsday walked up to the entranceway. Part of him knew exactly who he'd find. Exactly who.

"Well, don't just stand there. Come on in, son. And bring your friends. It's quite cold out there," said Bertran.

….

Mt. Justice: Rose was making Ragnar's life a living hell.

She wouldn't leave him alone. No matter how many times he'd told her, no matter how _forcefully_ he'd expressed himself, she just nodded and kept right on doing whatever it was she happened to be doing, which usually involved him in some way. He was wondering if he should speak to Nightwing about it.

Right now, her stated reason for intruding on his life was examining him to make sure he wasn't transforming. Even though he locked his doors, securing them as well as he knew how, she always found a way in. He'd just turn around and there she'd be, already feeling up under his shirt, feeling his shoulders and back for spikes. "Rose!"

"Shuddup." Her standard greeting. She felt over his shoulder blades, not forgetting to check out his elbows. Doomsday had had some formidable bone spikes there, too. "I don't feel anything yet. No mood swings? You remember, this Doomsday's rage was encoded into his genetic nature. He couldn't _help_ but be angry."

"No." Tensely. _But sometimes when you're around, I feel myself getting close._

"Say, you always wear these snap-on button-downs? I've never seen you with anything else, except at that shelter."

"Yes. Megan liked them, so that's what I always bought."

Rose grinned. "Oh, _Megan_ liked them, did she?" Her grin grew bigger. "You know why, don't you?"

"I think this is one of those things I'm better off not learning about from you."

She put her hand up against his chest, leaning against him, her head down, chortling. "I can't help it. You're just such a _virgin._ "

"Get your hand," he growled, " _off_ me."

One day he came back to his quarters to find Rose already there, waiting for him. He rolled his eyes. Why didn't she just move in? He'd find other quarters. Maybe a nice broom closet…

But she was holding a box in her hand. "Here," she said, "This came for you."

"What, you mean you didn't open it already? You're slipping."

"Shuddup. G'wan and open it. I'm curious." He glared at her, halfway tempted to put it off 'till later, but, truth was, he was curious, too. He never received mail.

Inside the box was another box, holding, in its center, a brightly shining ring. "Er, what's this?"

She took the ring out of the box, an expression of something close to shock on her face. He looked on admiringly. Even if nothing else, this gift had served to knock her out of her attitude of smug superiority. It made her face almost pleasant to look at. "You know what this is, Ragnar?"

"It's a ring."

"It's a _promise_ ring! The kind you give to a very special person!"

He digested that. "Well, who would have sent me…wait, there's a note." He read the note. _"M'gann?_ I…this is great!"

"Wrong. This is a great _laugh._ Ragnar, girls don't send _guys_ promise rings! It's the other way around!"

"So…what exactly are you saying?"

"You're gettin' played. Someone wants you to think M'gann sent you this. Why, I'm not too sure. Where's the return address?"

"There isn't one."

"Use your ring, _idiot_. Analyze it."

He did so, too mesmerized by the occurrence to resent her. "I'm seeing traces of beach sand, dried algae, sea winds, and the scent and sound of fighter jets in action. Seems like Coast City."

"I _knew_ it!" Rose smacked a fist into her palm. "Ragnar, I'm smelling a rat. Or rather, a gerbil. A cute, adorable gerbil with a green power ring."

"You're not making any sense. As usual."

"Think about it. We know M'gann's only allowed a very few visitors. And not many people here on Earth even know where she is, let alone have the requisite power to get there. But a Green Lantern could."

"Somehow I can't see Hal Jordan or John Stewart as sending me this gift for any conceivable or even inconceivable reason."

"Not them. Someone who's connected with the issue, but maybe not all that familiar with Earth customs. A female. Needless to say."

His eyes widened. "Arisia?"

"Yeah, you're catching on. You're not as stupid as you look. Now come on." She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the door. "We have to make sure."

"And we're going to do that exactly _how?_ "

It turned out not to be that hard. They cornered Hal Jordan just as he was coming off duty at Ferris Enterprises. Ragnar used his ring to neutralize Jordan's, while Rose administered Tasmanian Tickle Torture until he broke, and told them about Arisia's dragooning him into sending Ragnar the ring. "I _knew_ it!" said Rose, again smacking her fist into her palm.

"Okay, granted, Arisia's behind all this, but why?" The two had left Ferris Enterprises, and found themselves on the Coast City beach. The sun was setting.

"Hm. Not sure…it's not, I don't think, her idea of a joke. No, this wouldn't be a good joke, no matter what your sense of humor. Hm." As they walked, Ragnar took the time to admire the beach, and the setting sun, the soothing sounds of the surf. He'd never taken notice of such things back on his old world. There, the fight to survive had required all his attention. "Maybe…maybe she's playing Little Miss Matchmaker, trying to get you two together. Or, you know, more together than you have been, before…before all this came up."

"'Little Miss Matchmaker'?"

"Trying to get you two closer together. Maybe even get you to propose. Or something."

"Propose? Propose what?"

" _Marriage,_ you numbskull! A long distance proposal, yeah, but a proposal's a proposal."

He was shaking his head. "I still don't understand."

"For a guy who's good with puzzles, you are so dense, sometimes. I guess you just aren't used to human customs or ways. Look. Arisia and M'gann are friends, right? And you're her friend, too. Two friends who, who've had some problems. None of 'em were your fault, but, but sometimes problems like this drive people apart. In fact, they often do. And you can't tell me it hasn't been a strain on you, knowing how you feel about her, and how she feels about you—but being unable to even _communicate_."

"Okay…" It _had_ been. He hadn't known Rose was that perceptive.

"So she's trying to, to get you two closer, even though the problems haven't been solved yet. Just as these kinds of problems sometimes drive people apart, she's trying to drive you two together. Understand?" _Cause I don't know any better way to express it._

"Well, all right, granted everything you say is true. So?"

"So? Ragnar, you are such an innocent. All this is a great chess game designed to manipulate the two of you. Maybe for the best of reasons, but still."

"I can't believe Arisia is just trying to manipulate us like that. I don't see why she'd do a thing like that. What would she get out of it? I mean, seriously."

"Yeah? How much you wanna bet M'gann got a promise ring, too? From, supposedly, you?"

"Oh, come on…"

"How much?"

"This is ridiculous."

"How much?"

He drew back slightly. "I'm not about to, to wager money on something like this…it's far too…personal. To bet money would be…crass."

She studied him for a moment, hands on her hips. Then, "Okay. So not money, then. So…" she narrowed her eyes at him. "Something you really don't need in the first place, then. Something you won't even miss. How about your virginity?"

"WHAT!"

"Keep it down. You're better off without it, one way or another, anyhow. What about it?"

He stared at her for a moment. Then, he turned away. "You're joking. I can never tell when you're joking…"

"Who's joking? You don't wanna bet money, okay, I guess that _is_ a little materialistic. So this: if I'm right," and here she poked him in the chest; he backed up, a bit nervously. How _was_ it Rose always seemed to have this effect on him? "You and me. One on one. Night of my choosing."

"You can't even stand me!"

"We wouldn't be standing. Trust me."

He stared at her a moment longer, his temper rising. He could almost feel the spikes starting to protrude from his shoulders. "And if you're wrong? What then?"

She stood her ground, hands on her hips, an unreadable expression on her face. "Then I'm yours for twenty-four hours. I'll do anything you want—er, within reason. I mean, I won't eat shit or anything like that. But anything else…you name it, you've got it. Sexual? I'd be yours for the asking. Clean your room? Done deal. Wash your back in the shower? Got it covered. Massages? No problem. All of the above plus."

He stared. "You're crazy. You know that? Absolutely insane."

"You just now figuring that out? Come on." A sly grin. "You're not _afraid_ of me, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then it's on." She stuck out her hand to shake his. "Unless you _really are_ afraid of me, I mean?"

He was so angry he could barely see straight. Almost without realizing it, he took her hand and shook it, savagely.

….

Arisia was patrolling her usual areas when the call came through. The green ring on her finger signaled: she was getting a communication from Oa.

She stopped, there in the airlessness of deep space, and activated her ring. A green hologram sprang from it, a hologram of a Martian she'd never seen before. Although Martians, in their natural state, tended to look alike to many humanoids, Arisia got the impression that this one was female. "Yes? This is Arisia Rrab. Can I help you?"

" _Very possibly. I am Mistress O'nzz, of Mars. I am one of the Martian Mystics who have been attempting, lately, to help your friend, M'gann M'orzz."_

Oh. Okay. "Oh, yes. I don't believe we were even introduced. Er, how do you do?"

" _Well enough…for the present. But the reason for this call, which I'm routing through the Guardians, is to request that you come to Mons Olympus as soon as you can. It concerns your friend."_

Arisia gasped. "M'gann? Is…is she alright?"

" _Physically, yes. But…and understand, there is much I am not allowed to tell you, by our policy, so this message is, in part, a violation of that code, but…"_ The green figure paused, seeming to take a deep breath. Then, _"Student M'orzz is being discharged from our program."_

"'Discharged? You mean, she's cured? You guys got the horror meme out of her? That's great!" But something in the back of her mind nagged her….

" _No, she is not cured, as you put it. The horror meme remains fully active. But she is being discharged."_ Another pause, another deep breath. _"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she is being_ _expelled_ _from our program."_ To Arisia's shocked expression, Mistress O'nzz added, quietly, _"And I really think she could use a friend right now."_

 _To be continued…_


	17. Chapter 17: Graduations

The Gold Corps: Shattered: Chapter 17: Graduations

…..

 _I don't own either Young Justice, the Green Lantern Corps, or the Justice League. Would I turn down the chance to own Rose Wilson? No comment._

… _.._

Chapter 17: Graduations

Mars, Mons Olympus: Arisia had managed to get there in record time. She'd conferred with the Guardians, who'd given her the all-clear to go, even though they normally frowned upon personal matters interfering with matters concerning the Corps. But evidently, the Martian Mystics, particularly Mistress O'nzz, had some influence with the Guardians, and Arisia was given leave to go see about M'gann.

Besides, when she'd conferred with them, she'd already been halfway there.

Upon arrival, she was met by a silent acolyte, who conducted her to a spacious meeting room. Mistress O'nzz was there. "Ah, thank you for coming, Lantern Arisia. M'gann is just down the corridor, packing what few things she has. Perhaps you could assist her."

"B-but, Mistress O'nzz! What happened? I mean, she was doing so well…"

Mistress O'nzz heaved a heartfelt sigh. "There is little I can tell you. Our rules and guidelines do not permit us to discuss these matters with outsiders." Abruptly, she smiled a sad smile at Arisia. "That also applies to other Martians. So you understand I can say…or perhaps I should say, _should_ say nothing.

"But one bit of information I can impart, even though it violates our rules of confidentiality.

"You know the training acolytes undergo here is very stressful. Sometimes stress can cause a person to make unwise decisions.

"Student M'orzz is not the only one being discharged. Another, a young male student, is also being discharged.

"I will say no more than that. Saying what I have has already violated our rules."

Arisia felt numb, even as she raced down the corridor to M'gann's Spartan room. Within, she saw a weeping M'gann, sitting on the side of her bed, a box of Kleenex tissues next to her. The small garbage can was already overflowing with used tissues. "Uh, Megan?"

Megan didn't even look up, but just nodded, obviously miserable. "H-hello, Arisia." Her voice sounded drained, as though she'd been crying for days…and, thought Arisia, that might well be the case. She came over and sat by the green girl on her small bed.

"Megan, what happened? I thought things were going so well…"

Megan began crying afresh, ripping out some more tissues. "I got stupid, is what happened. There…there was a….Oh, Arisia, I don't know if I can even say it!"

Arisia sat close to her and pulled her into an embrace. "C'mon. I heard some other young Martian also being, er, 'invited to leave.' Does that have anything to do with this?"

Megan nodded, leaning against her. "Yeah. It does. See, there's this technique the Martian elders have been aware of, for thousands of years. It…it sounded like a, like a perfect solution. Without going into any details, it…it changes, or can change, the structure of reality itself. I don't guess I have to tell you it's a closely guarded secret."

Arisia held Megan's head against her shoulder. "Aaaand…you…utilized this, this technique? Or tried to?"

"Tried to. But…I couldn't do it alone. I didn't have access to all the materials I needed, all the knowledge.

"So I got some help."

"'Help'?" Arisia felt a cold chill settle on her arms and shoulders.

Nod. "One of the other students here. I…got him to help me."

Arisia paused. "And…you talked him into it? That was all?" _Please tell me that was all!_

"I…I didn't just _talk_ him into it…with, you know… Arisia! I couldn't see any other way! The training here wasn't working!

"Arisia, Ragnar's gonna hate me! I betrayed him!"

 _Oh, gods,_ thought Arisia, still holding Megan tightly. Yeah, this was bad.

…..

Earth: Mt. Justice. Ragnar was pacing back and forth, wondering about this bet he'd inadvertently entered into with Rose. He had a sinking sensation that it was one he'd lose. And then…

He winced when he thought of _Rose Wilson_ , of all people, and _himself_ having sex. He knew about human sex, and certainly couldn't deny the _attraction_ of sex, but…he just couldn't imagine having sex with _Rose,_ of all people.

Well, if worse came to worst, he could just tell her what she could do with her bet. Nobody could force him to…do that, not with her.

No, no, he couldn't do that. He knew perfectly well that, were she to lose, she'd keep her end of the bargain. That being the case, he felt obligated to honor _his_.

 _I suppose a lot of guys would kill to have my problem,_ he thought to himself. _I wish one of them did._

There was a metel-on-metal sound, and his door hissed open, admitting Rose, who casually tossed aside the paint scraper she'd used to jimmy his door. She was reading from a printout she had. "Okay, I think I've got this figured out."

"What figured out?" Warily. _Why do I even bother to lock my door?_

"How we can determine who's right and who's wrong about this. It's like everything else: you gotta know who to talk to. C'mon." She grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him into the main rec room. There was nobody else there, which made him all the more nervous. Rose just had that effect on him. She plopped him down on the couch and came over and sat by him. He hitched away. The further away from her he was, the better he liked it.

She picked up the remote and clicked it to "communications" mode. The big screen TV became a high-rez monitor directly hooked into the Watchtower's own communication web. A few moments of fiddling, and she figured out the "address" for the Martian group on Mons Olympus. They should be able to put her in touch with the Mystics….

Ragnar looked on in admiration. Rose had never been formally trained on the use of the communications system, but she'd basically figured it out on the fly. He doubted anyone could have done any better.

The Martian face that appeared on the screen was, to their eyes, completely androgynous. _"Yes? To whom am I speaking?"_ The voice matched the face: neither male nor female.

"We're with the Earth group M'gann M'orzz is affiliated with. We're calling to check up on her, as we haven't heard from her in some time."

" _That is deliberate and to be expected. Students of the Mystics are cloistered away in a very special retreat, and not allowed contact with outsiders, nor with outsider ways. That even includes many aspects of what you would call typical Martian life, as well. It is a stern and harsh requirement."_

"Uhm, yes, we understand that. But could we speak to someone about her? We're just concerned, is all."

The face hesitated a bit. Then, _"You've reason to be concerned. Anything else I cannot tell you, as it is against our policy to say."_

Ragnar and Rose looked at each other. Reason to be concerned? What was _that_ all about? Ragnar could feel his worry level rising.

Rose continued smoothly. "We understand. We'd like to speak to Mistress O'nzz, if you please."

Pause. Then, _"Mistress O'nzz is under the same restrictions as I am. I do not know if she is available. Please hold while I check."_ A moment later, the face returned, the expression on it decidedly unpleasant. _"I have located Mistress O'nzz, and she has agreed to speak with you regarding the matter of former student M'orzz. I will transfer you now."_

Again Rose and Ragnar exchanged looks. Former student?

Again the screen cleared, and this time the face revealed had a decided feminine cast to it. _"Yes? I understand you wished to speak with me?"_

Rose cleared her throat. "Yes, uh, Mistress O'nzz, is it? Yes. I'm Rose Wilson, and this is Ragnar Rok. We are in the same covert team, here on Earth, that M'gann M'orzz is in. We, uh, we were calling to ask about her, and how she's doing. I know you can't reveal anything confidential, and we wouldn't ask that, anyway. But, we're her friends, and we haven't had any communication with her for some time now. A-and the person we just spoke with referred to her as a 'former student.' We, we uh, were wondering…I mean…if anything's gone wrong." Rose cleared her throat. Even over the millions of miles, Mistress O'nzz was an intimidating person.

For a minute, there was a pause at the other end, and they could see the Martian Mystic gathering her thoughts, and deciding what she could tell. _"You are right; there is little I can actually say. It is true that former student M'orzz is in the process of being discharged from our program."_

"So then…she's cured?" Ragnar spoke up, hopefully.

" _I did not say that."_ Ragnar's stomach convulsed on him. Not cured? Megan?

" _Former student M'orzz is in the process of being discharged from our program. I can really say no more about the matter than that. Your questions will have to wait until you see her yourself, in person. But there are certain preparations we must perform, certain procedures that must be accomplished before her ultimate release. These will take approximately five of your Earth days. After that time, she will be returning to you…assuming, of course, that she wishes to. But she will be free to go._

" _So all of your questions will have to wait."_ And Mistress O'nzz moved to cut the connection.

"Wait!" said Rose, "Uh, one thing, and maybe this won't be, like, classified or anything. But, during her time there, did M'gann receive a box? A package?"

Mistress O'nzz hesitated. Then, _"No. Former student M'orzz received no packages of any kind during her stay here. Such would be frowned upon, in any case."_

Rose sat back in shock. She'd been so sure… "You're sure?"

" _Of course. All mail would be routed through us, the Elders. She received no package of any kind, from anywhere, at all."_

"Oh. Well, uh, thank you, Mistress O'nzz." Rose sat back, an expression of shock on her face. "Thank you for answering our questions."

" _I believe the Earth term is, 'you're welcome.'"_ And she cut the connection.

Rose sat back against the back of the couch, an expression of amazement on her face. Ragnar watched her with some interest. When she wasn't lording it over him for some reason or another, Rose was actually rather attractive to look at. "Well? That seems to answer _that._ "

"Yeah. It does." Rose tilted her head forward, recovering her composure. "I…I guess I was wrong, Ragnar. It kinda hurts to say it, but…it's the truth.

"So. A bet's a bet. What do you want, and when do you want me to do it?"

He waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh, I'm not going to hold you to that, that'd be silly."

"No, no. A bet's a bet. I sure would'a held you to yours. So tell me: what do you want me to do?"

"Rose. I _don't want_ you to be my, my personal body slave or something. I, I'm not like that. I'm really not comfortable with that."

"Yeah, but…for my own self-respect, I gotta do this. Now come on. You must have something you'd like me to do. Clean your room? Do your laundry? Either or neither or both?"

 _Besides go away and leave me alone?_ He sighed. "Well, if you're determined…let me think about it."

"Hey, the sex thing is always a possibility, you know."

"Please." He shuddered visibly.

Mars, Mons Olympus: In the underground complex that had served the Martian Mystics for thousands of years, Arisia was helping M'gann pack what pitifully few belongings she had. Megan hadn't stopped crying, not totally, the whole time Arisia had been there. She, Megan, would have to undergo some "post processing" prior to actually leaving, so there was no real rush.

Arisia had tried to talk to Megan about what happened, but the Martian girl was inconsolable. "He-he won't want anything to do with me, and, and I can't blame him."

"You don't _know_ that."

"How can he _not_ feel that way? Arisia! I _sold myself!_ Why or what for doesn't matter!"

Arisia sat back down on the narrow bed. "Look, M'gann. You're being way too hard on yourself. What if," she began, speculatively, "what if things were reversed? What if Ragnar did something similar, because he wanted to be with you?"

Miss Martian sniffled. "I—I'd forgive him, of course. I mean…"

Arisia motioned for her to sit down next to her. "M'gann. You know what the problem is? _You won't forgive yourself._ You won't forgive yourself for being, well, not human, but, yeah, human, in that way.

"So now, let's go over it from the beginning, shall we? What, exactly, happened?" And Megan began speaking.

She'd learned of the process—called by some "reality modification"—that involved the exploitation of the infinite number _pi_. Being infinite, literally, there was, somewhere within its vastness, a string of code that described the universe in its current state. Narrowing it down, within that string, were other, smaller strings describing the individuals within that universe, describing them from birth to death—and possibly beyond.

That code accurately described every single thing in the universe, from the smallest subatomic particle to the largest galaxy. And everything in between.

M'gann had begun to research it, purely for academic purposes only, of course, but that had quickly become research for a more practical usage. To this end, she'd enlisted another student, one S'yren S'inzz, a student about her age, and one who showed a great deal of promise. Normally, the sexes were rigorously segregated for the students, but both M'gann and S'yren were of sufficient level that nothing was thought about it.

Until it was too late.

M'gann had been the first to crack the code, to isolate those strings of coding that referred to their common universe, and, further, the lines of code that referred to the individuals in question…she thought.

But there was no way to be sure. The process for altering that line of code was intricate and very delicate, and largely unknown. S'yren had been reluctant to meddle further with such cosmic matters. More knowledge was needed, he said. Attempting anything at this point would be foolhardy. He'd balked, and quite sensibly, too.

M'gann didn't see things quite that way. She didn't see herself as quitting now, not when she was so close. So…she needed to coax her companion to continue doing something he regarded as unwise. In this respect, young Martians and young humans were no different.

Although she'd never had sex, being, essentially, a Martian teenager (in spite of her Earth years), and a virgin at that, she nonetheless found it wasn't all that difficult to… convince S'yren to continue helping her. She'd actually been surprised at how easy it all was.

"So you see," she said, sniffling, "I, I'm no better than a whore. I sold myself, my body. Maybe not for money, but, but to get somebody to do something. How can he forgive a thing like that? Arisia! I so wanted my first time to be with him!" Again, she began quietly weeping.

Arisia thought, and thought hard. Megan was tearing herself up inside, over guilt. And yes, some of that guilt was deserved: she had gotten another young student in trouble. Arisia's people didn't have the same perspective on sex that Earth humans had…to them, it was just an act, and virginity, purity, whatever one wished to call it, really wasn't that highly prized. In fact, a little experience on the part of both parties really tended to make things go better, she'd thought.

So she and Sodam Yat had what Earth people might call an open relationship. Either one could sex up pretty much anyone they pleased; a one-nighter or something along those lines, with no repercussions. But suppose….just suppose she'd found out that Sodam Yat was not only seeing another woman, but seeming to _prefer her company_ to Arisia's?

Yeah, that would hurt like hell.

And two people, who'd all but promised themselves to one another…. That was sorta what they would be going through. If Ragnar was truly socially acclimated to the North American upper middle class social structure…and there was no reason to expect him not to be…it would be like discovering that Megan _preferred_ somebody else to him. Never mind about the horror meme; it would still seem as though she'd _deliberately_ chosen another. Which, in a way, she had, but, but not…that way. "Hurt like hell" pretty well covered that, too.

Once again, she pulled the Martian girl to her. "Okay, look: for one thing, he doesn't ever need to know." But even as she said it, she knew _that_ wouldn't work.

"But _I'd_ know! Every time he looked at me, every time he touched me, every time we….we kissed…I'd be reminded. I don't think I could keep that a secret like that from him!"

"Yeah, well, keep in mind, that horror meme is still in place. Compared to that, all this is small asteroids. One thing at a time, okay?"

Megan nodded, her head tightly against Arisia's shoulder.

….

All next day, Rose wondered what Ragnar was going to have her do. She'd promised him her service for twenty-four hours if she lost, and she'd lost, so…for some twenty-four period (and, she reminded herself, they didn't all have to happen at once. It would be just like him to break it up into a series of days, weeks, months…however long it took to completely humiliate her.

Except…somehow, she couldn't see him as wanting to humiliate her. Or cause her pain or harm in any way. It just wasn't like him, somehow)…for that twenty four hour period, he essentially owned her.

Of course, it was a no brainer what most guys would've gone for. How could any young man resist having his own living sex doll? And Rose was under no illusions about to her attractiveness. But he'd never suggested that. Privately, she wondered if he even found her attractive. It didn't seem like it.

But today he came in, waving a letter with an official looking seal on it. "I've got it. Rose, this is how you can pay off your debt. And it's fairly simple and easy."

"Really?" She grunted, lying on the couch in the rec room, magazine in hand. "So what is it?"

He showed her his notification of graduation, and of the senior prom to be held that night. "It's a couples thing," he said, "and you and I are gonna be the couple. You're gonna be my date."

Rose read the invitation with a rising sense of alarm. High school prom? Lights, dancing, music? Girls and girl talk? Boys staking out claims to the potentially spiked punch? "Uh, Ragnar? You, uh, you sure you wouldn't rather have a night of really hot sex?"

"Positive."

 _To be continued…._


	18. Chapter 18: Prom Night

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 18: Prom Night

…

 _I don't own either Young Justice, the Justice League, or the Green Lantern Corps. Maybe someday…_

… _.._

Chapter 18: Prom Night

The night of the prom: Rose was in her room, putting on her dress and makeup. She was wearing her eye patch; at first, she'd thought to go _incognito_ , as it were, with her false eye, but Ragnar had vetoed that. "I'd like you to go as Rose Wilson. Yourself."

"Suppose we're attacked?"

"My ring can teleport your swords to you in an instant."

So she sat in her room at Mt. Justice. Her dress, for the evening, was a long, black, form fitting, sequined affair, sleeveless and backless, and cut low enough in the front so as to display her natural attributes in the best possible way, while remaining well within legal limits, and avoiding the possibility of "wardrobe malfunctions," as they'd come to be called lately. Of course, she knew, as did all of them, that, had Miss Martian been here, she and Ragnar would naturally be the couple going. Rose herself was by no means insulted by this premise; she wished Megan was back, too, and could take this insufferable buffoon off her hands. Those two of them just…belonged together. (But what was that about Miss Martian being discharged, but….not cured? But Rose noticed that nobody had said she _hadn't_ been, either…but if she had, why the need for such ultimate secrecy?)

Besides, Rose had other reasons for wishing she could skip this prom. Her own experience with senior proms—and formal dances-had been…less than enjoyable.

Her first and only senior prom had ended badly. Although mostly home-schooled, her father, Slade Wilson, had felt that his daughter needed the rite of passage that senior prom supplied, so he'd insisted she attend, and, to that effect, had arranged it. She still remembered the looks, the snide, insulting comments, the bland, lying faces of those girls in the cliques, how they muttered about her behind her back, unaware that she could hear them. Or maybe just not caring. Sometimes, people believe one disability carried over into another, wholly different area; Rose was missing an eye, so they may easily have assumed she was partially deaf, too.

Her "date" had seemed mostly interested in talking sports with his buddies than dancing, so she'd found herself hanging around the punchbowl. Which, in time-honored tradition, had proved to be spiked, and she'd gotten plastered off her ass.

The last thing she remembered about the whole train wreck of an evening was her date eagerly clawing at her panties.

Her father had never said in what condition he'd found her, or where, or how, even. Privately, she suspected him as having her bugged…but, of course, she didn't know.

She _did_ know that, for quite a while there, he'd tested her regularly, for signs of pregnancy. And STDs. That alone told her more than she really wanted to know.

And she never saw that guy, her date, again. Ever.

Her father had, in the course of her training, instructed her about sex and sexual techniques, especially for covert operations, and she had taken to such studies with the intelligence and determination she used in every aspect of the giant learning experience her life was. It was the same principle as learning how to handle a rifle, or a sword: it was only of any good to you if you learned how to use it _properly._ Otherwise, it was just….clumsy. And ineffective.

Someone signaled for entrance. Of course, she knew who it was.

The door opened to reveal Ragnar, in a formal tux, with a white jacket and black pants, carrying a small box. A red tie completed his ensemble. "Wow," she told him, admiringly, "You clean up pretty good."

"I'll take that as a compliment. But whether it was or not…you look very beautiful tonight, Rose."

Rose's jaw almost dropped. This clowninski just paid her a compliment? Oh, but of course. "You need to work on your sarcasm. That was a bit overdone."

He stared at her momentarily. "I wasn't being sarcastic, Rose. Why would you think I would be?"

"You mean you weren't?"

"Rose…you apparently don't know very much about me." He held out the box. "I believe it is customary for me to give you this."

Rose opened the box, to reveal a striking-looking corsage. "A corsage? Boy, you're really going all out."

"'All out'?"

"Means the whole nine yards. Doing everything, in other words. Geez, you _haven't_ picked up much of the nuances about human languages, have you?"

"Evidently not." Pause. "I am unsure if I am to attach this arrangement to you or if you do it yourself."

"I'll do it." She quickly pinned the corsage (which really was quite, er, lovely) to the band that went around her throat. "Well. Shall we go?"

Outside, at the empty place that served as a parking lot. "Ragnar, a _limousine!_ I don't buh-LEEVE it!"

"What's not to believe? Is not all this traditional?" He said, holding the door for her. She got in.

Truth to tell, Rose Wilson had never, in her life, actually ridden in a real limousine before. Leather upholstery, contoured seats….it was a little overwhelming, even for her."Uh, Ragnar? You're not…I mean, you're not like, trying to actually _court_ me, are you?"

He clutched his stomach, an expression of pain on his face. "Please. I just ate."

She laughed. Now _that_ was more like it!

The prom itself was rather quieter than she remembered. The music was muted, although produced by a band. The banners over the ballroom—which was held in the school's gymnasium-held the standard "Welcome Graduates!" notifications, and the people moved in and out of groups. The chaperones were clearly visible, circulating, always on the lookout for mischievous behavior.

Of which there was surprisingly little. Rose was surprised.

The two of them secured a table by themselves near the doorway. "So now what?" they both chorused, then Rose began laughing while Ragnar smiled. "I don't guess either one of us has really thought this far ahead, have we?"

"Well, _I_ certainly haven't. This is the first such party I've gone to…in fact, the first party I've gone to at all. I'm unsure what one does at these affairs."

"Ehh, mostly dance, drink, mingle. This one's kinda restrained. Some guys use it as an excuse to hit on girls—"out of the corner of her eye, she saw him start, and realized his misunderstanding—"not physically, Rag—I mean, _Ray._ " She barely remembered in time to use his cover name of Ragin Ramanujin, Indian exchange student, "but, you know, get to know them _up close_ and _personal_ , like. Perhaps a bit more personal than they like. But that's what the word 'no' was invented for. As well as the words 'get lost,' 'scram,' 'make tracks.' " _Sometimes they even work._

 _I wish they'd worked for me, back then._

 _I don't even know if I used them._

The music began, the band playing a slow number. Ragnar stood up and turned to her. "In that case, may I have this dance?"

She gaped at him. "You? Dance? Since when do you know how to dance?"

"Since I watched some Youtube videos. Now, if you would do me the honor?"

She got to her feet, and moved with him to the gymnasium floor. " _Why?"_ She whispered. _"You don't even like me!"_ He didn't respond, but just took her in his arms, and began moving in what turned out to be a surprisingly graceful manner. And he'd learned this from _Youtube?_

 _Play along, Rose._ So she laid her head on his shoulder, and let him lead, the movements coming automatically to her. Social dancing was another of the many fields she'd been trained to be proficient in. As she lay there, she utilized her ability to block out ambient sounds and concentrate on hushed conversation….

"… _what's with the one-eyed chick?"_

" _Ray's grown a lot this last year…don't understand why he doesn't try out for the team…"_

" _Wasn't he the one got the Morse girl preggers?"_

" _Dunno, but if so, he sure got some fine (crowd noise)"_

"… _who's the white haired girl?"_

" _Wish he were holding me that way…_

"… _bet_ _I_ _could take him away from her…"_ At this last, Rose felt her hands clenching, as though she was holding her swords. _Like to see you try, bitch!_

Gradually, Rose became aware of the fading away of comments, not because they became fewer, but because they were becoming further away. She glanced up and around.

The other attendees had drawn back in a circle around them, forming a kind of ring about them, watching them while they danced. What th' hell? "Uh, Ray? I, I think we're the center of attention."

He glanced up. "So we are. How did that happen?" The band reached the end of the piece of music they were playing.

Rose sighed. There was just no help for it. Oh, well, at least this should be over with quick. "Okay, now," she said, quietly, taking his head in both her hands, "this is where tradition demands I plant one on you. Try not to throw up, 'kay?" And before he could ask what she meant, she pulled his head down towards hers, and kissed him, deeply.

More deeply, she'd later realize, than she'd ever kissed anyone before.

The surrounding audience broke into quiet applause.

The moment was broken, and she led him back to their table. A passing waiter brought them plastic glasses of fruit punch. Rose sniffed of it, suspiciously. Not only for her own reasons, but also because no one knew how alcohol would react with Ragnar's unique metabolism. It would _probably_ have no effect, but still. A little caution was called for. "So," she said, "That was your first dance? With anyone? Ever?"

"Yes. I studied the patterns of movement in depth, with an eye towards reproducing them myself, in real life."

She smiled a kind of quick but sad smile, twirling the stem of her glass. "Sorry I wasn't…I mean, I'm sorry…I wasn't…who you wished I was."

"You are you, Rose. That's all I have any right to ask."

"Yeah, but I know you'd rather be with…her. Don't try an' deny it. I know better."

"I wasn't about to."

"So why'd you ask _me_ to this thing? Couldn't you get a real date?" There was a moment of intense silence, and she immediately regretted saying that. "I…I'm sorry, Ray. That….that came out a lot bitchier than I intended."

He was silent for a moment. Then, "I…understand, Rose. What you are asking is, could I not have secured a date through more normal means? And the answer is, possibly. But it occurred to me this might be better."

"With me? I thought you couldn't stand me."

Grunt. "Not sure I can. But…I honestly have no idea why. I wasn't going to attend at all, until it occurred to me this would be a good way to discharge your part of the debt you swear you owe me and, at the same time, acquire some needed experience that might benefit my continued life on Earth. So here we are."

They both fell silent, and Rose processed what she'd learned. In truth, she'd come to feel strangely _bound_ to this guy. He might be the ultimate in clueless klutzes, an albatross around her neck….but it was _her_ neck he was around.

No matter how much she tried to deny it, he was _her_ clueless klutz _._ She just plain felt responsible, somehow.

The band struck up another slow dance number. This time, she stood up, and held out her hand to him. "Well. How about another dance?"

Afterwards, they found themselves out in the garden just outside the gymnasium, where the ball was being held. Rose looked up at the night sky, trying to see the faint reddish speck that would be Mars. When Megan returned, and hopefully returned cured, she'd relinquish Ragnar to her. He'd be her responsibility from then on out. Megan would then be the one to keep him checked up and see if he was transforming. It would all be up to her, then.

The thought saddened her, for some reason.

They walked through the cool gardens. "Maybe I needed this," remarked  
Rose.

"Needed it?"

"Yeah. My last experience with a senior prom was, like, a total disaster. Maybe…maybe this serves to, to supplant, 'n' override those memories."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not _think_ about it, let alone talk about it. Just let it drop." She stared down into her glass. All at once it occurred to her: this was what it could have been like. This was what it _should_ have been like: that one, perfect moment…

…And it hadda go and be with _this_ doofus.

Well, actually, this doofus wasn't so bad. For a doofus, that is.

He saw her back to her quarters, there at Mt. Justice. At her door, he turned to her and stuck out his hand. "Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Rose. I hereby release you from your debt."

"Hold on a moment. We're not quite finished here."

"But I just said I released you. I know it hasn't been twenty-four hours, but in that twenty-four hours, I could do whatsoever I chose, no? And I choose to release you."

"Yeah but the _job_ isn't done yet. You wanted me to be your date for the senior prom. Technically, I've only fulfilled the most basic, bare-bones requirements of the task. And I've always taken pride in going the extra mile. And this next part is kinda traditional, most of the time, anyway. So c'mere." And she drew him into an embrace. "Here's how you do it: arms around the back, hands just below the shoulders, now bend down here…" And she kissed him again, a scorching kiss. "You know," she said, as she pulled back just a little, "It's okay if you close your eyes and think of M'gann…at times like these."

"I…don't feel that would be respectful to you, Rose. You are the person I'm kissing. You may not be the person I'm in love with, but you are the person I'm kissing. To imagine you as someone else would just be…disrespectful."

She drew back further, looking at him as if for the first time. "That's…that's actually rather…dare I say it…rather sweet of you, kid." Who'd have thought it?

"Well, anyway, I'll be going now. As I said, I had a very nice time, and I release you from your-*"

"Hold on a minute. I'm still not done."

"What more is there?"

She was silent for a moment. Then, "You know, most prom dates frequently end on a…much more _intense_ note than this. Much more…physical."

"I don't know what you mean."

She surprised herself by taking his hands in hers. "I _mean,_ Ragnar, that…your time isn't up. Not for several more hours. And, and…I could give you some…additional training for when M'gann _does_ get back." She wondered if her face was as red as his was. "It's been my experience that that first time, especially between virgins, is often clumsy, awkward, and…unsatisfactory, overall."

"Rose…"

"It would be purely educational, of course. And you needn't think anything of it. Nothing between us, I mean. Just… me showing you how, some things to do. It would really be good for you both, I can promise you that."

He looked away. "I…I would feel like I was betraying Megan."

She caressed his face, speaking softly. "You wouldn't be, any more than taking me to this prom tonight was betraying her. It wasn't, and this wouldn't be either.

"It's like you said: partners look out for each other. If you saw me going into a situation where you could help me, you wouldn't hesitate, now would you? Well, this is really no different."

She drew him into an embrace. "So. Whaddaya say?"

…

"This is most fascinating, son. You've made some interesting friends since your arrival here on Earth." Bertran was the perfect hostess. She'd even provided the group with beverages and pastries, such as many Earth customs suggested.

"But Mom, what _happened?_ I came back to the base, and it was destroyed! I searched, but couldn't find anything…"

"I know, son. The pirates who attacked had considerable firepower; I believe some of it may have been of Fourth World origin. It took me some time to regrow a new body, at one of my bases, out across the stars, and transplant my consciousness into it. Then I had to upgrade my defensive capabilities to Fourth World level—and, in a few cases, I believe, I may even have exceeded them. And then, of course, there was the light-speed limitation: information lag hampered me in finding _you._ I'm glad you found these New Gods, of whom you spoke; I cannot believe they are no more. Perhaps their realm has simply been…removed a bit further from ours."

She turned to the Leaguers. "I am most appreciative to you for giving my son sanctuary here. I can only imagine that this was not an easy decision for you; this universe's version of my son is evidently not one you would wish on anyone."

"That's…quite all right, ma'am," said Kal El. He, like the others, had been notably affected by Bertran's aura of authority and intelligence. It reminded him somewhat of his own Kryptonian father, Jor-El. This, he thought, in his most private thoughts, this is what Bertron could have been like… "Your son has been a tireless worker, a valuable teammate, and a good friend. We're glad to have had him."

"Mom? Uh, something…this universe, Bertron, your counterpart…he did something to one of our team members, hurt her pretty deeply. Is, is there, like, maybe some way, I mean, could you, maybe, take a look at her? An' see if, you know, you could do anything?"

"I'll certainly do what I can. Tell me: what, precisely was done to the girl?"

After the explanations, Bertran was silent, as they sat there in the small receiving room, an expression of deep concentration on her alien face. "I…see. This…is serious. Very serious. How long has she been so afflicted? That long? Hm. Time may be of the essence…where is the girl now?"

…

"I _can't_ go back, Arisia! I mean, the whole planet…I can't go back to Earth at all!"

Arisia put her hands on her hips and gave the Martian girl a stern look. "You can't _not_ go back. To do anything else would be running away, and, M'gann…once you start running, you don't stop. Besides, something else has come up." She told Megan about the discovery of Doomsday's "mother," the alien supergenius Bertran, who ought to be able to at least shed some light on the process that Megan had been exposed to, and possibly even effect a treatment. There was no reason to think otherwise. "But she's on Earth, so that's where you're going!"

At Megan's bleak look, Arisia softened somewhat, came over and sat by her on the simple, Spartan cot she'd been allotted. "Look, Megan. This…don't worry so much about it. All couples have secrets from each other. Some are little, some are big. I had a couple from Hal that he still doesn't know about. It didn't affect anything. Come on." Another hug. "I wouldn't steer you wrong. Just…let's just see what we can see, okay?"

"O-okay, Arisia."

 _To be continued….with a blast!_


	19. Chapter 19: Procedures

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 19: Procedures

…

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Be nice if I did, but I don't. Hope you enjoy this newest chapter! I know I had fun writing it._

 _But events are unfolding that won't be fun for anybody._

… _._

Chapter 19: Procedures

Earth, Bertran's Antarctic Fortress: Megan lay silent and unmoving in the scanning apparatus. "I truly wish we had some measurements of your brain prior to the incident," Bertran said. She saw Megan's anguished look. "Now, child, fret not. I have heard of this process you were subjected to. It's quite easily spotted; the only problem I foresee is how deeply rooted the meme may be. It has had time to entrench itself within your subconscious for some time now. I don't doubt but that I can detect the meme. The only problem I see is that its removal will be a very delicate procedure."

"How—how will you do that?"

"There is a way…a way beyond magic and science alike…whereby we can actually send agents into your subconscious mind and, very delicately, see to the removal of the meme. This is a precise and complete maneuver, more akin to micro-surgery than any of the other means, such as subjecting you to various energies. That is probably where the Guardians and the Martian Mystics failed: their techniques were a tad too broad-based, lacking the delicacy for this procedure. Plus, and not meaning to speak against them, I'm sure they did their best—they probably took the notion that the problem lay with you, rather than this alien meme that you've been infected with. Such a meme as you have in you is akin to a tapeworm: it is a living organism, or close to it, in its own right, and needs to be addressed as a separate organism, one that is unwelcome."

"So…you'll actually send somebody into my mind?"

"Essentially. The meme is planted in your subconscious, and there is a phenomenon known as a _universal subconscious_ , sometimes called _psychospace_ or _dreamspace_. Properly prepared beings can enter it and effect changes there, on individuals. These changes then become part of the person's waking existence. It's a very proactive approach, and a very effective one, if properly done."

"But…you'd still have to send someone into my mind?"

"Well, yes. As with microsurgery, it's best performed up close and personal. Even with the help of properly tuned and calibrated instruments, doing the matter by hand, as it were, is still the most reliable and effective way. This way, complete control is assured."

"Can—can I choose who I want to go?"

Bertran sighed. "That, child, is up to your teammates. I can provide the process and the transfer, but who actually goes is not for me to decide. Though I am sure they would honor your wishes."

…..

"Yeah, we've already got two people lined up, Megan," said Nightwing, already going over the forms, readying them for placement in their charts. He was barely paying attention to her. The two were in her quarters, as she was moving back in. Ragnar had made himself scarce, knowing the horror meme was still in effect. "It's simple. From what Bertran tells me, all our operatives gotta do is go in, blast this meme thing, and signal for pickup. Couldn't be simpler. I wish _all_ our problems were this easy to solve."

Megan was unloading the precious few items she'd been able to have at the Martian colony. She felt so horribly _guilty,_ as though she were wearing a sign, "I cheated on my boyfriend!" "So….w-who did you select?" This was gonna be pretty personal, after all…

He ruffled some sheets, her discharge papers. "I'll keep these locked away, of course."

"Thank you, Dick." Moving a glass figurine as she spoke.

"At first I thought to send Wonder Girl and Batgirl. But Batgirl got called out…bat family business. Likewise Wonder Girl. The Justice League needed her.

"Then I thought to send in Artemis and Aqualad. They work well together, but the same thing happened: Red Arrow and Artemis got called away, and Aqualad had to go undercover. And Kid Flash is out; way too sensitive a subject, and beyond his experience level, anyway.

"So that just left Rose and Ragnar."

 _Crash!_ Went the figurine in Megan's hands. He looked up, his attention finally drawn to her at last.

Megan Morse stood up against the wall of her quarters, braced up against the wall itself, the back of one hand pressed up against her mouth, as though trying to stifle a scream. _"Rose and Ragnar?_ Dick, please, please tell me that's a joke! I'll, I'll even promise to laugh if you do!"

He was puzzled. "Well, no. Rose is a good operative, she's got the experience, and wasn't needed anywhere else, unlike anybody else. Everybody else is three deep in previous assignments. And Ragnar, frankly, because he's the only person who can stand to be around Rose. They've worked undercover before. They were the ones who worked that undercover op just a month or so ago. That didn't work out too well, but they both seemed to work well as a team under fire."

Now an altogether different kind of flush came over the green girl. "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Have…have they been going on a _lot_ of missions together? _Undercover_ missions?"

"No, that was really the first, and so far, the only one." He chuckled. "From Ragnar's comments, he wasn't too thrilled on being paired up with her again, but there's just nobody else. And besides," he turned to her, even as he started to leave. "You know Rose. I know you two don't get along, but you don't have to. You'll be out like a light the whole time. All she has to do is just do her job. And she's good at that. And Ray's your boyfriend, so you know he'll take good care of you." He turned and left.

Alone in the quiet of her quarters, Megan sat and thought, running her hand through her auburn hair, over and over. Tomorrow morning. Rose and Ragnar. Going into her mind. Her deepest, most private secrets. The absolute two worst choices in all Creation. She looked up towards the ceiling. "I don't suppose you could just kill me now, could you?"

…

The next morning: Rose was already waiting in the transfer chamber when Ragnar showed up. "Couldn't you be on time, for once?"

"I _am_ on time. This is the scheduled time of departure, Rose."

" _True_ operatives are always early. Here you drag in…"

"I'm _really_ not in the mood, Rose."

" _Get_ in the mood!"

" _Quiet, you two."_ Nightwing's voice came over the comm badges they both wore, and that they'd wear into dreamspace. That ensured the badges would work; Rose had a complete life-support system built into her uniform, complete with a foldable transparent heavy duty plastic space helmet, which she now unfurled around her head. They were taking no chances. There could easily be areas of dreamspace that would be inimical, and perhaps not even survivable, by any unprotected human. For that reason, Ragnar was enclosing them both in a protective bubble-field of his ring's golden energy, at least until they could determine the conditions of their surroundings. The knowledge that she had to depend on this total idiot tested Rose's already scant patience even more. It showed up in her nervousness. _"Alright. We've identified an area of dreamspace that ought to be, at least, close to where you need to go. Rose, you have that sensor?"_ Bertran had given them a specialized sensor that was set to determine when and where they would be getting close to the wave signature that was Megan's dream self. It should also work to point out the horror meme.

The key word being "should." Conditions in dreamspace, or psychospace, were mostly unknown, and distances impossible to gauge from this side. In order to have any chance at all of finding their target, they first had to get some needed intel on the environment it lived in.

"Yeah, I've got it. It's turned off, just like you said." Bertran had suggested that, at least until they knew more, it might be best to approach dreamspace as if it were a hostile electromagnetic environment: all unnecessary electronics should be turned off, lest they short out.

 _Hope that doesn't happen to my suit,_ thought Rose. The thought of having to depend on Ragnar for support just galled her. They were a team, yes, but the less she depended on him, the better she liked it. He was just such a noob.

" _Good. Well, here we go."_ In the control booth, he flicked a switch…

…and a circular curtain of light descended upon them from the projectors above, enclosing them totally in its radiance. When the glow disappeared, they had vanished.

…..

Rose and Ragnar materialized in what appeared to be empty interstellar space. There was no sign of a planetary body, nor any feeling of gravity. The distant stars were just like those in the "real" world. Rose wasn't expecting a weightless environment, and choked for a moment, as her body accustomed itself to the "falling" feeling. "Careful," Ragnar said, right alongside of her, his ring projecting the golden-light sphere of protection around them, "You throw up in your helmet, and you'll have to swallow it back down."

"You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?"

But he wasn't paying her any attention, instead looking steadfastly at his ring. "Hey, over here? Remember? Mission?"

"This…can't be." He looked stunned.

"What?"

"There's an _atmosphere_ here. A breathable atmosphere. Nor can I detect any limitation to it; it appears to be as limitless as this void is." He turned to her. "You won't need your life support system, at least not here. It's safe to remove your helmet."

"You—you're kidding. Air? Here?" She looked around at the space surrounding them, the faraway suns…. "How can that be?"

"I don't know, unless it's a function of this being, essentially, a… _different_ kind of space than we're accustomed to. This isn't just some other dimension or universe or something. This is _dreamspace._ Maybe one of the natural laws here is that there's a human-breathable atmosphere even out here in what looks like interstellar space."

Still she looked around, taking it all in. She couldn't see the air, of course, but the sensors on her suit were reading in the green… Grumbling, she unfolded the helmet back, and took a deep breath.

Nothing. No particular odor, just air. One part of Rose's mind worked on how that could possibly be, but another just accepted it. "Well, I'm still gonna keep my guard up. Just because we can't tell any limits to this…atmosphere, doesn't mean there aren't any."

"A wise decision. Have you the sensor Bertran gave us?"

"Yeah." In the midst of getting used to this strange reality, she'd momentarily forgotten about it. Now she pulled it out, switching it on.

The sensor sent out ranging tachyon beams, searching for objects with mass. It was thought that, wherever Megan was, whatever form her guise was in this universe had to have some difference in mass from its surroundings. Once such masses were detected, the sensor could begin narrowing down the results.

Except there didn't seem to be any. Rose dialed the scanner down; tachyons were funny things: the _less_ energetic particles actually traveled _faster,_ completely opposite to baryonic matter, such as was commonplace on the human side of the light-speed barrier.

So now she dialed in the least energetic. There, on the very edge of the sensor's range was what appeared to be a planetary body. "It's the only mass I'm registering. As good a place as any to start."

"I wish we knew what we were looking for."

Shrug. "Part of this mission is finding out what to expect. Are people 'reflected' as people here, or as who knows what? They might be something we wouldn't even recognize as people. But let's go take a look."

"Right." He extended his hand. She'd already expressed her displeasure at being just carried.

"Got an idea. Weightless void; just let me get a handhold in your belt and hold on. So long as you don't accelerate too hard, I can just hitch a ride. That way, you keep both hands free."

"Good idea." And she latched onto his belt, and they took off for the coordinates of the planetary body they'd sensed.

…..

Thirty minutes before: At Bertran's Antarctic base, Miss Martian was lying on the special gurney, preparing to undergo the sleep process that would, hopefully, grant Rose and Ragnar access to her subconscious mind. Arisia was there, of course, partly out of curiosity, but mostly in an effort to soothe Megan. "Look, Megan, it'll be alright. I mean, Bertran says this isn't a mind reading sort of thing, it's more like a kind of psychotherapy, or, or dream interpretation. But look: _even if_ , _even if_ , worst case scenario, and he _does_ find out….Megan, he loves you! I'm told he's pretty much languished the whole time you've been gone. Probably the only reason you don't have several boxes of old letters is because there's no postal delivery on Mars, and anyway, the Mystics probably wouldn't have allowed that. That's just simply not gonna change!"

"Oh, Arisia, my _head_ knows that, but my heart….well, actually, my head doesn't know it too well either! I _know_ he'll be hurt! I, I…took someone else! There's just no way around that!"

"Oh, come on." Arisia sat next to her, as the automatic machines began to arrange themselves into the proper configuration. She leaned over and hugged Megan as fiercely as she could, considering their respective positions. "Five years from now, you'll both look back on this and laugh. Promise. It won't be anything at all. You'll be wondering what you were so worried about.

"Now go on to sleep. When you wake up, this whole thing's probably gonna be solved. And if not," Betran had cautioned them that it could easily take several tries, since the procedure was so radical and unknown, "if not, well, we'll try again. And again, and again. Megan, you've got the entire universe, just about, working in your favor. Now we're getting the help of _another_ universe. How can this fail?"

Tears formed in Miss Martian's eyes. She returned Arisia's hug, then readied herself. "I….thank you, Arisia. You're a good friend."

 _To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20: Dreamtime

Young Justice / Green Lantern: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 20: Dreamtime

…

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps_

… _.._

Chapter 20: Dreamtime

Dreamspace: The pair were approaching the mass Rose had noticed earlier. It didn't seem to be a standard planet, even though it was of the right size. It didn't appear to be in orbit around any central star, but just drifted through space. Its gravitational field appeared no greater than Earth's, and possibly a little less. But it was totally black. Not the black of a planet floating in space without a star to light it, but even up close, the planetoid appeared to be totally and completely black. "Looks like a giant cinder," remarked Rose, kneeling down to get a better look at the ground. She picked at the surface, and a piece came off in her hand, disintegrating even as she watched. Ragnar went over and kicked a small protrusion from the surface, with the same result.

"You're right; it _does_ look like a giant cinder. But what could have caused it?"

She shrugged. "Dreamspace. There may be no reason. Maybe someone is just dreaming of a huge cindered planet. Though that would be a kind of an odd dream."

"Well, this is clearly not where we need to be, so-*"

"Wait a minute, kid. Remember who we're looking for: Miss _Martian_. And Martians have a thing about fire. Fires produce cinders. Don't dismiss this place so quickly."

But he shook his head. "Doesn't _feel_ right, Rose. Can't you feel it? This place is, is… _active_. There's more than just death at work here."

Now that she concentrated on it, Rose could feel it too. This wasn't the aftermath of some horrendous superweapon, a planet blasted and forgotten about; whatever had so burned this world _was still watching it._

Still _wanting_ it the way it was.

Unconsciously, the two had adopted their standard—for them—tactical position: back to back, with Rose's swords drawn, and Ragnar's ring guarding them from the other direction. Rose noticed that his left hand had sprouted sharp bony spurs from the knuckles; she wondered if he was even aware of that or not. "Okay, I think it's time we left. There's no sign of M'gann hereabouts, at least not one we determine. Let's move off a ways, and regroup."

He rose from the ground, even as she tucked her hands firmly in his belt. It was harder this time, as they were fighting the gravity well of a plant….but the gravity field seemed to stop abruptly just a few feet above the blackened surface. He rapidly picked up speed, it being no trouble for him to accelerate to some respectable velocities.

But they didn't move far off. "Okay," began Rose, "on the one hand, a blackened planet….why would someone dream that? And no signs of intelligent life…if this is the collective subconscious, where are the dreamers?" Again, she consulted the scanner Bertran had given her, calibrating it for more than just mass. "Hey. Get a load of this. Apparently there's a massive temperature increase not far from here."

"How massive?" He looked around; there was no visible sign of such.

Her eyes widened. "Like _real_ massive. Like about up to two million degrees Fahrenheit. Just hanging there in space, too. No star or anything nearby. Oh, wait: I spoke too soon. It appears to be headed our way." She looked at him. "Might want to give some thought to the better part of valor. That would test even your ring's ability."

"Agreed. Which other direction looks promising?"

"Not here. Let's move. I want to triangulate on this thing; it's approaching, and I wanna find out how big it is."

With her holding onto his belt, he flew away from the cinder of a planet, until it was no more than a speck in the reddish "sky" that appeared to be this universe's backdrop. "How's this?"

She consulted her scanner. "We're safely past it, but it's a huge thing. Easily the size of a small star. And there's no mass associated with it. None. It's apparently just an area of intense heat, floating through space." She paused, and recalibrated the scanner. "Perhaps 'floating' wasn't accurate, as it appears to be underway. It's traveling along a certain course, a course that takes it right past that burned out planet we just found."

"Any sign of any other masses in this area?"

"Let me see." She fussed over the scanner, giving it a couple of shakes, an ancient human custom of semi-magic that people seemed to fall into, regardless of cultural or educational level. "Maybe some very slight ones at the furthest end of the scanner's range. We can try that. But first, let's track that moving hot spot. No way a thing like that is natural." She took more readings. The spot was invisible to the unaided eye, but the scanner tracked it easily. "Stands out like a nuclear blast."

"Which way was is it headed?"

"That way." And she pointed to her right. "Seems to be traveling on a pretty straight line, too."

"Are there….any planetary masses in its wake?"

"Way ahead of ya, kid." She worked the scanner's controls expertly. "Hm. Those aren't that far off. And that's odd. When we first got here, I know I scanned this area, and didn't see anything, except for that cindered planet back there."

 _En route,_ Rose couldn't help but wonder: was the traveling heat source responsible for the burned planet? If so, why? Then she thought: aliens. And wanted to face-palm again.

Rose hated dealing with aliens. No matter how "normal" or how "human" (like) they projected themselves, there was usually something off-center about them, something you couldn't predict, no matter how much thought and preparation you put into it. And that was the ones that tried to fit in.

Well, maybe, for once, things would work out just the way they were supposed to. Maybe they'd be able to remove the horror meme from Megan's subconscious, restoring her to her proper mental state. Then Rose could, in good conscience, turn kludinsky, here, over to Miss Pie Thrower, and just let them sorta…..sort it all out for themselves. Megan would the one to watch him for signs of transformation, and he could, he could….well, he could do whatever he chose to do, she guessed. Which, she reasoned, with a quirk of a smile, would no doubt include learning a great deal about sex.

At the end of the Graduation Party he'd dragged her to, he escorted her back to her quarters at Mt. Justice. They'd shaken hands, and he'd pronounced her debt to him paid.

But then, for reasons she still didn't fully understand, she'd taken his hands and told him the bet didn't have to be over, and she was not averse to giving him some…lessons…on human sexuality that she felt would be sure to come in handy, once Megan was herself again, and they could be together. No strings attached, nobody talking about any kind of commitments, just…some private lessons.

What followed was interesting. It was the first time she'd seen him express anything like interest in her ( _interest_ , hell; this was simple _arousal;_ she'd begun to wonder if he even _had_ a sex drive), he had nonetheless very politely turned her down. "You're a person, Rose, not a teaching tool. And you deserve better than being used by somebody as an educational prop. I really wish you would not lose sight of that."

 _Wow._ Outwardly, she said, "That your final word? Okay, kid. Well, g'night." Then she'd gone inside, closed the door—and thought about that. Long and hard.

For most of her life, Rose Wilson had thought of herself only in terms of what she could do. Her training under her father had, in a way, reinforced that, although she was sure he hadn't intended it that way. But when you've been trained to hone your body and mind into a weapon, how _else_ can you see yourself, _except_ as a thing, a tool?

And how was it that Ray, a stranger to Earth and Earth's customs, could see her in any other way than the way she saw herself?

 _Aliens,_ she thought to herself. Aliens again. But—and with the tiniest of secret smiles—maybe in a good way. No reason why it couldn't be.

"Then let's head for the closest. I'd like a look at whatever may be associated with that heat source, even if it's not directly in its wake."

The planetoid floated, just like the burned out cinder of a planet, dead in space, with no solar mass associated with it. It too, was totally, completely black, but it was not the black of the cindered planetoid they'd just come from. Rather, this one seemed to be composed of pure obsidian, volcanic glass. "Okay, this is getting a little high up there on the 'weird' scale," said Rose. "I mean, first, a planet-sized cinder, and now a planet-sized chunk of obsidian? What is this place—a goth paradise?"

"Rose…look over there." Ray was pointing, using his ring to create an arrow to what she supposed was the eastward side of the planetoid.

Rising up out of the razor-sharp shards of glass was a cathedral, replete with gargoyle-festooned walls. The only ground level entrance was a massive gate much like a European castle, with a drawbridge and portcullis…all constructed of obsidian.

Without asking, Ragnar used his ring to pick her up and moved up away from the planet's actual surface. "Hey! What'cha doing?"

"That glass is sharper than a razor. You don't have the protection my ring affords me; a misstep could slice you to the bone. Now, you can fuss and fume all you want to, but I'm not taking that chance."

"Actually, for once, I think you made the right decision. This'd be a poor place to get a huge paper cut. But let's get a little closer look at that…that…structure." Obligingly, he flew them both closer to the edifice.

It was exquisitely detailed, without any signs of normal carving or flaking, such as is commonly the case when humans sought to shape obsidian. Rather, it appeared to have been _cast_ in its current shape. "Kid," said Rose, "I'm getting a funny feeling about this…thing. Am I the only one who thinks those gargoyles look just a little _too_ real?"

"No. But I sense nothing here that will aid us in finding Megan. Does the sensor show anything?"

She consulted it. "No. It reads this place, but it's just a planetoid. Nothing of Megan here."

"Then let me take some recordings with my ring, and be on our way. We don't have that long until automatic recall, you know."

"'Kay."

…..

Our world: San Francisco: the young man known as Brother Blood, or Sebastian Blood, was preparing for a most enjoyable evening.

His agents had identified seven "moles" within his organization, and these had been speedily apprehended and appropriately tortured. But that was only the beginning.

His acolytes were even now preparing the captives for the sacrifice, whereupon their life-essence would be withdrawn from them and transferred to Sebastian Blood. This would enhance his own power, and also give him the sadistic satisfaction he reveled in.

 _This one will do._ Sebastian Blood looked up. He hadn't heard the voice with his ears, but it had resounded in his mind…his eyes widened as he realized who it had to be. "No! I'm not ready!"

The being known as Brother Smith took absolutely no notice of Blood's protestations whatsoever. If a grain of wheat did not wish to be reaped, did the farmer care? He funneled his own essence into the mind and soul of Sebastian Blood, completely replacing them with his own. A quick shudder and it was done. All Blood's power, supernatural and otherwise, had been unable to even so much as slow down the psionic entity. For all intents and purposes, Brother Blood, as he had been, no longer existed.

The new Brother Blood stood up from his throne, already rifling through the recent memories of his host. "My, my. What a mess. That's the trouble with youngsters; driven by their hormones, no sense of priorities." He turned to Mother Mayhem, standing close by. She was looking up at him from a step down, sensing that something was not as it had been. "Mother Mayhem. There's been a, shall we say, a bit of an epiphany here. You might even call it a change in leadership. Take these prisoners back to their cells; I'll tend to them later. Then bring me the reports on our branches, both on the east and the west coasts. I'm especially interested in knowing about the location of all the Lazarus pits world-wide. In fact, make that a priority.

"Oh, and bring me the files on any covert group operating out of Happy Harbor. I'm especially interested in information regarding one Blue Beetle. Go on, now. See to it. I want those reports on my desk by morning."

"Yes, master. I hear and obey."

"See that you do." As he slid the door back, he glanced at his right hand. The yellow power ring had faithfully followed him into this new form. Good, good. _Now if I can get one of those scarabs…_

…

The hunter prowled the streets of San Francisco, his hunger driving him on. Ever since his resurrection, so very long ago, he no longer needed to eat food in the normal, human sense, but some things could not be replaced.

One such hunger was the hunger for knowledge. The other was a thirst for revenge.

Knowledge: He'd already determined that this was the time. He'd identified the one known as _Batgirl_ and her compatriot, _Wonder Girl._ There would be an accounting there, and soon.

Revenge: He knew the entity known as "Brother Smith," who'd had so many identities over the millennia, was here, in this time period. And…there, too, would be an accounting. Oh, such an accounting! The tale-tellers would speak of it for generations to come.

But he had to be patient. One thing his incredibly long life had taught him was: patience is often the key to victory.

…

"I don't buh- _leeve_ it!" Stacey McAllister's face was three shades of red.

"Huh? What?" Her friend and co-worker Courtney glanced over. The two were having a hurried lunch in the back room at Victoria's Secret, in Happy Harbor Mall. "What is it, Stace?"

"Look!" Stacey held up the newspaper she'd picked up, the "dead tree edition," as Courtney called it ("C'mon, girl, get with the program. Or do you wanna see the rain forests disappear?"). "Just look! Read that!" She was pointing to a specific article.

Courtney took the paper and read. The Joker, fully recovered from his injuries, had been found to be too insane to stand trial, and so had been remanded to the custody of Arkham Asylum, in Gotham City. "Yeah, well, what else is new? That's like, his home away from home. Actually, it's probably more like his home, period, come to think of it."

"COURT- _ney!_ They basically _let that monster out! Again!_ "

"Arkham isn't exactly 'out,' Stace."

"Yeah? They don't call it 'the revolving door' for no reason! He'll escape, and, and probably kill some more people. It was only thanks to, to that Gold Lantern that he didn't this time. And my parents could've been among his victims, Court! How would you feel if it was your people he'd almost killed?"

"Probably about the way you're feeling now. But, Stace, what can you do?" And here she leaned across the small table, the better to whisper her comments to her worked-up friend. "I hear what you're saying: The guy should be put in the ground. For good. But these days, even saying that gets you suspicious looks. _Especially_ coming from someone who was a victim of his twisted 'joke.' So watch it, okay? Somebody could easily accuse you of being, I dunno, some kinda assassin in the making."

All of a sudden, Stacey broke down, sitting there at the table, wiping her eyes with her hands. She reached for a box of Kleenex. _Now I'll have to reapply my makeup…_ "I…Court, it's just…I guess I came _this close_ to, to losing them altogether…it scared me, Court! It scared me worse than if I'd been the one threatened!" More tears. "I almost lost 'em, Courtney. And now…now the piece of shit who almost took my whole family away from me is alive and enjoying three hots and a cot. Until he breaks out again, that is."

Courtney put her arm around her friend, whose shoulders were still shaking. "I know, Stace, I know. But you gotta realize two things: one, Arkham's on the other side of the nation. Even if he gets out, he's not gonna make a beeline back here to menace you and yours. I mean, why?

"And two, _you didn't lose your family._ That's the biggie. They _were_ saved, and they're alive and well. What you're feeling is, I guess, a baby version of post-traumatic stress disorder. But everything's okay! It's all okay."

Stacey sniffled, bringing herself under control. "Yeah, but he'll get out to kill again. This isn't the first time. I don't know how Arkham can even call itself a prison, the way people come and go there."

"Yeah, well, not our problem. And neither is he. Now, come on. Back to work."

But as Stacey was preparing to close down the store for the night, she once again reflected on the _unjustness_ of the whole thing. The Joker. A man (man…Ha!) who had killed, and killed again and again, totally without remorse. If anyone ever deserved the death penalty or worse, it was him.

"I know it hurts." The voice came from behind her, and she whirled around, startled that someone could have sneaked up on her. The "closed" sign had been posted….

Standing over by the window was the little boy she'd seen earlier, the one she'd seen looking at her from across the mall. He wore a brown outfit, with a white shirt, brown jacket and brown short pants, and was staring out the window, hands clasped behind him. Watching the mall-goers outside.

"How did you get in here?" Nervously, Stacey noted that this was the very boy whose reflection she hadn't been able to see in the storefront glass.

"I had to know," said the boy, continuing to stare out the window. "I had to experience it for myself. Otherwise, I'd never have known how much it hurt. But now I know. It hurts. It hurts a lot." He angled his head towards Stacey, a rather sad smile on his face. "That's an impressive gift your friend has. Back then, I was only human. He helped me. He brought me out."

More nervousness. There wasn't anybody else in the store…. "Look, kid, you shouldn't be in here. I mean, there's stuff in here you shouldn't see. And your parents are looking for you, I'm sure; the mall's about to close."

"You almost came to know it. I am glad you didn't." Stacey was getting more and more spooked. This looked like a little boy of nine or so, but the way he talked, his body English, stance and posture, were those of an adult…. "And you do not wish for others to suffer as you have. Do you?"

"Er…do I what?"

"You don't want anyone else to suffer the loss you almost suffered: the separation from your loved ones. The break in unity. Isn't that correct?"

Stacey thought, taken aback by the child's words. Yes, that was certainly one way of putting it….separated from your loved ones. Death is the ultimate separation. "Well, _no_. I certainly don't wish that on anyone else." In the brief pause that followed, she asked, "Who are you, anyway?" The words came out as barely a whisper.

He turned to face her fully. "I'm Tommy. Tommy Walker. And I think you'll do nicely."

 _Okay,_ thought Stacey, _in horror movies, this is where the monster shows itself and kills the girl…._ She measured the distance between herself and the exit. Problem was, the boy (?) was right between her and the door.

He nodded, indicating the counter in front of her. "Look, Stacey McAllister. Look and see. See was is offered you. It is yours, even as it always has been."

Reflexively, even though she didn't want to take her eyes off the creature in front of her, Stacey glanced down at the glass countertop.

There was a heavy-looking silver ring sitting on the counter. Instinctively she knew this was real and not some cheap plastic knockoff. It was apparently made of some kind of solid substance…

 _It was real._

She didn't realize it when she picked it up. It was just as solid as it looked to be ….

On a level below conscious thought, Stacey knew what it was. It was a power ring, just like the ones the superheroes, including her Gold Lantern (what _was_ his name, anyway? Part of her resolved to find out) wore.

She turned the ring over and over in her hands, dimly aware that she was only delaying the inevitable. "It…what is…what is this?"

"What you need. You would oppose injustice, and preserve the Unity. Take it, Stacey. Become who you were meant to be. Who you truly are."

Moving as if in a dream, she put the ring on the middle finger of her right hand, knowing just the right place. The ring began to glow, a bright silver glow, and the words came to her lips:

"In brightest day, in blackest night

"With heart and soul, I pledge to fight

"No more will wrong be seen as right!

"'Till all are One, in silver light!"

 _To be continued…._


	21. Chapter 21: Assault

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered,, Chapter 21: Assault

….

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps._

… _.._

Chapter 21: Assault

The Team convened in the conference room of Mt. Justice, and accepted the direct link with the Watchtower. _"Brother Blood's been active again,"_ said the Martian Manhunter. Spaced around him were the core members of the Justice League: Wonder Woman, Superman, Aquaman, both Hal Jordan and John Stewart, and the Flash. The only one missing was Batman. Nightwing noticed Hawkwoman was seated in the farthest edge of the communications' pickup. There had been quite a bit of controversy about her continued membership, but, put to a vote, the group had voted that she stay. But Nightwing had noticed that she hadn't actually been on any active missions, and was not usually called, unless it was a class 3 alert, when they needed every available hand. The Thanagarian near-invasion had left a bad taste in everybody's mouth for Thanagarians, even those that had sided with them. Nightwing hoped, as did the rest, that time would heal those wounds. But he knew humans had a notoriously long memory when it came to grudges. _"We've evidence of one of his 'churches' active in the San Francisco area. I don't think I need to refresh your memories regarding his past exploits."_

 _No, sir, you surely don't,_ thought Nightwing. The new Brother Blood was a certifiable psychopath. To call him "bloodthirsty" wasn't mere hyperbole; he literally did drink blood, like a vampire, absorbing something of the powers of the person whose blood he tasted. Nightwing, and others had gone up against him in previous times, and had often been lucky to escape intact. But how could this be of any interest to a team of covert operatives? Infiltration of an organization such as Blood's wasn't a possibility when Blood could literally sniff out agents.

" _We've determined at least one center of the Church of Blood's influence. We've conferred with the authorities, and, with a little…persuasion, were able to make them see things our way._

" _Basically, this is to be a pre-emptive strike. We're going in with everything we've got. Blood's got magic on his side; Dr. Fate thinks he can counteract that, but he's not sure. None of us really know the limits of Blood's abilities._

" _Which is why the decision has come down to this: we take him out. Pure and simple. No wasted time trying to exploit any weaknesses in his organization, or in him. No added danger for our own in trying to capture him and bring him to justice. Just pure brute force."_

Nightwing, as well as the rest of the Team sat stunned. This was…unprecedented. "Sir, am I understanding this correctly…this is basically a military operation. Go in, blow up the target, leave?"

" _With one caveat, yes. That being, while this is going on, we want your team to go in under the radar, so to speak, and retrieve some operatives the authorities previously sent in, and whom we believe to have been compromised. That is, if they still live. Of which there is a strong possibility that they do not._

" _There is no need for subtlety in this endeavor. When you get the word, you are to proceed from the coordinates now being transferred to your files, straight into Blood's complex. And yes, lethal force is authorized. I realize this goes against the moral code of many of you, but remember that Blood's followers have shown themselves to be completely ruthless and utterly dedicated to their master in the past; they will not hesitate to use whatever force is available to them. Transmitting coordinates and timetable now."_ And with that, the Watchtower signed off.

For a moment, the group sat stunned, around the conference room table. "Did I hear this right," began Kid Flash, "Or are we being part of an actual military-style assault? A D-Day invasion, so to speak?"

"You heard right, Wally." Nightwing was mightily troubled. Superheroes—of which the Team was composed—normally adhered to a code of conduct in any operation that basically stated that life was sacred, and should not be taken, even at the risk of their own. "We're in a state of war."

Later, after the group had dispersed, going back to their respective quarters, Nightwing did some digging. Most of the information regarding Brother Blood's organization was suspect, of course, but he could filter out the truth from the untruth.

While he didn't know for sure, he suspected the Justice League of being in possession of more intel than they were sharing. There had to be a good reason why both they and the Team were to basically go in and nuke the place.

Someone signaled at his door. "Open," he said.

Wonder Girl was standing just outside. "Richard? Gotta minute?"

"Of course." Actually, he didn't, but he had never been able to refuse Cassie Sandsmark anything. Those blue eyes…

She crossed over to the desk he was sitting at. "What's really going on, Dick? I mean…this is a first. I can't imagine Superman going in, authorized to use full lethal force. It's not like him."

Richard Grayson shook his head. "I can't see it, either, Cassie. But I doubt Supes will _have_ to use lethal force. And that's something I should have emphasized to the other members: being authorized to use lethal force doesn't mean we have to use it. Only that it's an option. But you're right; something pretty serious must be at the bottom of all this. What, I don't know." He sat back in his chair and sighed. "And we're down three members: Megan, Rose, and Ray. I'd best give Jaime Reyes a call, see if he wants in…but you can bet I'm gonna let him know what he's getting into before he commits. Captain Marvel, Jr., Zatanna…anybody else I can think of."

"Hmph. Megan and Ray? Yeah, loss there. But Rose? Not so much."

"Rose is a good infighter, one of the best ones I've seen, of the non-enhanced group. And it's liable to come down to hand-to-hand, Cassie. That's what that call was all about. The League will be making the major assault from above, true, but anybody we encounter will most likely fight to the death. Remember, we're fighting religious zealots here. And while the party line is the worship of Trigon…" He stopped, eyes widening. "That's it. I hadn't even made the connection. But it's gotta be."

"What, Dick?"

"The reason why everybody's going in like gangbusters. It's the only possible reason. The only one that makes sense."

"What reason is that? Tell me, already!"

"Blood's about to open a portal to Trigon's dimension."

…

"I don't like this at all," said Superman. "We're not killers. We're supposed to help people, not put them beyond help."

"We don't have to like it," acknowledged J'onn J'onzz. "Unless we want Blood to loose Trigon's demonic hordes on our world, we've no real choice."

"We should've told the kids what they could be up against. Actual demons…"

"If we get to Blood in time, they won't be. And they're calling in all Team members in category 3 and above." Category 3 was the category of superhuman strength, endurance, varying degrees of invulnerability, and other powers beyond those of unenhanced humans. Superboy fell into that range, as did Blue Beetle, and Wonder Girl herself.

Superman crossed his arms across his chest, a look of determination on his face. "Well, I for one, _will not_ kill if there's any possible way. And there almost always is."

"And we probably can't," spoke up Hal Jordan. Beside him, John Stewart nodded. "The Corps was authorized to use lethal force, true… _against the Sinestro Corps_. Our rings will probably not allow us to take a life in this case."

"Very well. Duly noted and logged." J'onn J'onzz's face was unreadable. "But we must let nothing stop us from keeping Blood from opening that portal. You all know how vital that is; if he succeeds, we'll be facing an Apokolips-style invasion. And that simply must not be."

"What about our backup or reserve members, J'onn?" asked Wonder Woman. "The more muscle we can throw at them, the less chance of a necessity of having to use lethal force."

"I've put out a call to everyone whose powers put them in the necessary profile. I doubt the Question has the kind of skills we really need. Captain Atom, Captain Marvel…though I confess I'm hesitant about him."

"Why so?"

"His alter-ego is Billy Batson, a twelve year old boy. I….in spite of the desperate situation we face, I am hesitant to bring him into a situation where he might be called upon to kill someone." Superman and the others nodded. "We could certainly use his power, however. I have also placed a call to Icon and Rocket. I'm concealing nothing from any of them." He sighed, not really wishing to meet anyone's gaze at that time. "And something else I need not conceal: we could easily incur casualties of our own. Blood's followers revere him as a godling, almost, and Blood himself certainly has no qualms about taking life.

"But all our sources agree: this is a matter for the Justice League. Sending in US military would entail a political hailstorm, not to mention a body count of unguessable proportions. We, at least, can claim, quite reasonably, that metahuman activity was involved. But all agree this proactive measure is called for." He looked up, as though suddenly realizing something. "Where is Guy Gardner? I don't recall seeing him around for a number of days now."

The two GLs exchanged glances. "We don't know. A couple of times, we've tried to locate him, but he's blocking our rings. In a sense, he's not answering his phone, I guess you could say. To be totally honest, this didn't cause us a great deal of distress. Guy's at his best when he's nonpresent."

"But now, his power could be used. See if you can't locate him. Now." He tapped the table's controls, bringing up the 3D map of Blood's complex. "Our initial assault will be _here_ …."

Far, far out from Earth, or any other star known to man or the races of men, a small, robot probe careened along in a trajectory that would eventually take it to the northernmost edge of the Milky Way galaxy and beyond. In a few billion years, it might arrive at NGC 6397, a globular cluster relatively near to Earth's Milky Way galaxy.

But suddenly the empty space through it was sailing literally exploded in an expanding wave of energy radiating at nearly fifty-three million degrees Fahrenheit, nearly twice the temperature of the center of the sun. The probe was instantly consumed, reduced to its subatomic particles, unable to even get off an electronic squawk.

The energy blast continued to expand for nearly three astronomical units before reaching the limit of the supplied energy. The shockwave of energy continued to expand outward, but as it expanded, it lost energy. It nonetheless had sufficient energy at five AU's to immediately fry any planet it would have come across, had there been any out this way.

Far, far away, on a small blue planet, Stacey McAllister woke up from a sound sleep. The silver ring on her finger was chiming in a way she could hear only with her mind: _Beware. He is here._

 _The Unity is threatened._

…..

"Alright, people, listen up. This isn't gonna be like any other mission we've been on. This is a straight strike, we go in, and take down anybody in our way. Our objective is to get to these holding cells. Intel says our people are being held there, if they're still alive. And I have to warn you: we don't know what shape they'll be in. I think you all know about this new Sebastian Blood; he's like nobody we've ever faced. It would be just like him to leave mutilated corpses—or perhaps not corpses—for us to find. Just so's you know.

"We'll send our Alpha team —Superboy, Blue Beetle, Wonder Girl, and Batgirl-in through these tunnels. They lead upwards into the lower parts of the complex. And yes, they're probably bugged and armed. Be on your guard.

"Beta team—me, Arrow, Aqualad, Wally, Zatanna, Artemis, Bee—I need you to go in _here_. And, Zatanna…I need you and Captain Marvel Jr. to hold off altogether and be ready. If Blood _doesn't_ throw something magical at us, I'll eat this table. With A1 steak sauce. So I need you two to be our magical backup. Don't protest; you may have to rescue us all. Wally, I need you to run recon…"

"Not again!"

"You're the fastest; you can get in and out before the enemy can even blink. Just don't try to be a Rambo. We need intel more than we need a dead Wally. Got it?"

"O— _kay_. If I have to…"

"You have to. Now, here's our timetable…at precisely 0500 hours the League is gonna go knocking on Blood's door. Here's hoping we catch him in the rest room or something." He smirked. "Actually, I'd kinda like that."

0500 hours, Thursday morning: The still of the coming dawn was shattered by a series of explosions centered in the air over Blood's fortified "church." The building itself had been built on a solid mass of rock, which had been tunneled into and attached to the main complex, strengthening it against just such activity. The purpose of the air explosions was to knock out any physical defenses Blood had in place, and to serve as cover for the incoming Justice League members.

The reverberations of the explosions had not ceased when Superman, Hal Jordan, Wonder Woman, Hawkwoman, and the Flash materialized in an area that had been identified as an empty space large enough to serve as the initial battle zone, and possibly Blood's throne room. It wasn't, and immediately, both Superman and Green Lantern began using their senses and sensors to determine the greatest troop concentration.

And even as they were doing that, over two thousand of Blood's own shock troops began pouring in from all directions.

…

Down in the tunnels, Superboy's team heard the upper areas ring as the explosions rocked it. "No need for subtlety now," he said, "just _go, go, go."_ They dashed off, down the dimly lit corridor….

….Just as the first of the automatic laser barrages began to fire from their concealing nooks.

Beta team: They could hear the explosions and feel the massive reverberations in the ground. Nightwing checked the map in his head. A touch to the communicator on his uniform. "Wally? What'cha got?"

" _Don't take that first tunnel we talked about; place is lousy with laser barrages. Fortunately, their aim isn't too good, but there's plenty of 'em. I'm not seeing anything—whoops!"_ There was a staticky hiss.

"Wally? Wally! Talk to me!"

 _More static. Then, to Nightwing's intense relief, he heard Kid Flash's voice again. "I was about to recommend that alternate route, but it's mined. Threw me off for a nanosecond there. I'm now at the third one…it's awfully shakey looking, though. But these infogoggles the League gave us aren't showing anything. I'm gonna go down to the end…"_

"No. Come on back. We'll take that one, with our heavies in front….but if you see anything out of the ordinary…."

" _I sure won't stop to post it on Facebook."_

….

Main hallway: the League was hard pressed to fight back against the oncoming zealots. Even though they'd been authorized to kill, none of them had, so far. Wonder Woman was privately hoping they'd not have to.

…

Down a corridor none of them had been aware of, the Hunter crept silently. He could hear, and sense, the war going on around him with senses far better than anyone except Superman. He could tell, from senses even the Man of Steel did not possess, where Blood's throne room was. If he could just get there, while the heroes distracted his prey….

He came to a larger enclosed space. Ranging senses told him that the center of Blood's power was not far from here. He carefully surveyed the area, then, with the lightness and agility of a hunting leopard, dropped to the ground. Hopefully, this would be relatively easy, and he could be gone before the humans arrived….

"You would disturb the Unity." A calm, female voice jerked him out of his daydream.

Floating in the center of the cavernous room was a female figure wearing a black and silver uniform, with a silver helmet obscuring her features. She had wavy brown shoulder length hair, and was currently pointing at him with her right closed fist, upon which was mounted a glowing silver power ring. A silver glow surrounded her.

He snarled. "Not another ring wielder! You're surely not one of Blood's followers, are you?"

"I fight for the Unity. You would disturb that. I cannot allow you to continue."

He immediately went on the offensive, extending his arm-blades, charging them with disruptive energies. "Try to _stop_ me!"

"If you wish." With that, a globe of silver energy surrounded him, cutting off gravity, rendering him weightless. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the globe containing him crashing upward into the rocky roof overhead, smashing it completely out of the complex altogether, and flying away into space….

The Justice League was making its way relentlessly through the corridors towards Blood's main command center. They'd managed to render the troops that had initially attacked them unconscious by main force, with the GLs providing a kind of moving fortress while Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash disarmed them at superspeed. Even so, those disarmed troops had fought on, right up until rendered unconscious. Superman was proud of his teammates; so far, there had been no deaths.

But he was reasonable enough to know that, given these odds, it would not remain so.

In the command room, the being now known as "Brother Blood" watched impassively as the strike team moved ever closer to him. Now, really, this was just really too much.

He sighed. He guessed it wasn't totally their fault; the original Sebastian Blood had certainly not garnered much in the way of good will from anybody. Blood sacrifices? Torturing prisoners? Executing anyone who disagreed with you? Didn't the stupid human see that there were better ways to get the job done? But noooo. Had to go and do practically everything in the book to get himself hated and feared. And he could have been a powerful political figure! He could have been _elected_ to the office of world ruler! If only he'd tried. Well. Things would be so much better now that somebody _intelligent_ was in control.

Well, he'd have to deal with these intrepid heroes. Of course, unlike them, he had absolutely no doubt whatsoever that, should they fall, the US government probably had the complex targeted by some heavy ordnance, possibly nuclear. After all, they were trying to stave off an invasion from a demonic dimension. It was what _he'd_ do.

But he couldn't just let them blast and bludgeon their way into this complex without taking some measures. It just wouldn't be dignified, and he had appearances to maintain. "Brother Koth, ready the failsafe option. And instruct the brethren that now is the time to evacuate."

"I hear and obey, milord." With a click of a switch, a great door opened up in the floor, allowing a sphere of energy to float into the command center.

 _Time to go,_ thought the new Brother Blood, even as he seated himself in his own personal evac pod….

The Justice League was still fighting the zealots, when they noticed them withdrawing. "Something's up," said Superman. He used his X-ray vision to see ahead, and his eyes widened at what he saw. "Everybody! We need to get out! That maniac has set a pulse bomb to go off!"

The team had managed to converge on the level of the prison cells. True to their intelligence, many of the prisoners were in no shape to walk, and Nightwing's blood boiled when he saw what had been done to them. He felt a little better about the lethal force sanction… _"Nightwing!"_ J'onn's voice came through, _"get your people out, and now! There's a pulse bomb about to go off in the command center!"_

A pulse bomb? About to go off? And with them so far inside Blood's complex?

It occurred to him that there was a term for their current predicament: _dead meat._

…..

"We have to get the kids out!" Wonder Woman was adamant. "They're still in there!"

" _We've warned them. There's not a lot we can do. Superman, you try to tunnel your way to their last known coordinates. Captain Atom, can you contain that energy?"_

"Only if I'm right up at it." He flew off, following Superman, who'd already headed back into the base. Orders or no, he'd do anything he could to save lives.

….

"Okay, people. Closest way out is straight up, right through Blood's tactical center…and right past the bomb." The others were hanging on to the former prisoners, some of whom needed help walking. "It's our only chance. Zee? I need you to blast us a way out from above. Beetle, what've you got that'll shatter those rock formations?"

"Ultrasonics." And Blue Beetle began to reconfigure his armor to produce a cannon powerful enough to smash the igneous rock overhead….

High over their heads, the universe's only Silver Lantern arrived at the command center, seeing the suspended globe, and the countdown timer on the control panel beside it. She gasped as she realized what it was about to do. Lives would be lost, sorrow would result. Many would be separated from their loved ones by death. The Unity would be greatly disturbed.

Superman flew into the control center. What he saw made him hitch a breath: a girl, a young woman, wearing a silver and black uniform and wielding a silver power ring, was projecting a sphere of silvery energy over the increasingly glowing pulse bomb sphere. From the look on her face, it was posing a tremendous strain on her. "Miss! Come on! We've got to get out of here!"

"No…your people…coming up from below. Get them to safety." She gritted her teeth. "I…will hold back this destroyer. The Unity will be preserved!"

"Unity? What-*" Just at that moment, he sensed Zatanna's magical displacement waves, meeting up with Jaime Reyes' own ultrasonics; a section of floor gave way, and Nightwing and the others began to climb out of the hole thus created.

Superman got on his communicator. "J'onn! Emergency! Can you focus on and teleport everyone within a fifty foot radius of me?"

" _Not right there, I can't. The energy from the pulse bomb is building too rapidly. You'll all have to move at least two hundred meters away."_

"Go," said the girl in silver, even as Nightwing as his team watched in amazement. "I will hold this back. The Unity _will_ be preserved! Now _go!"_

Superman realized there was nothing he could do. Captain Atom flew in, taking in the situation. "We have to get these people out of here, Kal-El!"

"Can you help her? Can you hold back the energy?"

"I'll try! Get the others to safety! Go on!" And Superman ushered the team members and former prisoners down the corridor.

"You should go, too! You could be killed! That would disturb the Unity!"

"Unity, right," he shouted over the rising whine of the bomb's building charge. "Well, how about we both _just_ _don't die._ That would work, too, wouldn't it?"

At that exact moment, the pulse bomb went off, blinding them both and slamming them against the cavern walls, bringing down the roof of the cave over them both.

From the outside: The Justice League and the team members watched in horror as the bomb demolished an entire city block. "Captain Atom! _Captain Atom!_ Come in, please!"

"Oooh…." Superman's ultrakeen sense of hearing heard the groan, and in an instant, he was there, shifting the rubble off of Nathaniel Adams, and helping him stand. "Man. My head's gonna ring for a week." Then he looked around. "The girl! Where….does anybody see the girl?"

Superman scanned around, even as EMTs came to take care of the prisoners. With regret, he saw that some of Blood's followers had been killed in the explosion…but there were surprisingly few of them. They must've received some sort of evac signal. His regret was accompanied by a sense of rage towards Blood; setting off a bomb in the middle of the city?

And yet, he had to admit, they, the Justice League, had done much the same. "I don't see her. J'onn! Check this area for any energy signatures, anything unusual."

" _So doing, but I'm not picking up anything. What's the sit-rep?"_

Superman quickly filled him in, even as he flew Captain Atom to the waiting Justice League EMTs. The Team members were seeing to the prisoners, and Kal-El felt his temper rising when he saw how they'd been treated. There was no excuse for that sort of thing. None.

….

On a hillside overlooking the city, the dark warrior gazed out at the rising column of smoke. Once again, his quarry had eluded him, mostly due to those meddlesome heroes. He knew they thought they were doing a good thing, but when somebody has a cancer, you don't blast the whole area with a shotgun. You go in with a knife. A sharp knife. And you cut it out. Couldn't they see that?

Now he was back to square one. Well, not quite. He knew now that "Brother Smith" was now inhabiting the body of "Brother Blood," and presumably exercising the powers of that form. He didn't see how this could be anything other than a deliberate move on the part of the psionic entity. And although he'd seen no evidence of it, he didn't doubt but that "Brother Blood" now wielded a yellow power ring. So that added to his already impressive arsenal. Clearly, the entity was seeking to acquire powers and artifacts of power, here in this place and time when such powers appeared to make good sense to have. And were so readily available.

His attention was drawn by a small moan from a thick copse of bushes, at the base of the small mountain where he was. An ordinary human wouldn't have been able to hear it, but he hadn't been ordinary since the last ice age. He immediately jumped down, bounding down with the grace of a gazelle, his enhanced vision seeking out the source of the sound.

The girl in the silver and black uniform was lying, halfway propped up on her left side, her hand to the side of her head, as though to feel through her silver helmet. He watched her for a minute. She was clearly stunned, but didn't seem to be hurt. Good.

He went over to her, and stood beside her, watching her for a moment. He thought about killing her; because of her, a monster still walked the Earth. But….

She was not his enemy.

He moved closer, taking caution in case she should she regain full consciousness and see him as a foe. "Can you walk?"

"I…I…"

"I'll take that as a 'no.' Come on, let me help you…"

"I, I must preserve the Unity…" She spoke as if in a dream, the voice of one talking in her sleep.

"Right, the Unity. Well, let's preserve the Unity over here, okay? It's a little more comfortable…" And he moved her over to the side of the mountain, to a softer spot on top of some thick grass. _She is not my enemy._

 _To be continued…_


	22. Chapter 22: The Red Void

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 22: The Red Void

….

 _I don't own Young Justice, the Green Lantern Corps, or the Justice League. Be nice if I did. I could get my housework done a lot faster._

… _.._

Chapter 22: The Red Void

Rose and Ragnar found themselves in a red-litten void, once again, seemingly weightless. Rose experienced the usual first few moments of adjustment as her body grew accustomed to the weightlessness; Ragnar apparently needed no such interim.

 _Figures,_ she thought, sarcastically, and maybe a little enviously. _Mr. Superior Life Form over there wouldn't need a moment or two._ But truthfully, she was getting used to such things by now. He was still a clueless klutz in regular life, so she supposed it evened out. "So where are we? Any idea?"

He consulted his ring. "I'm not picking up anything that might tell us that. This is, I suppose, still the collective subconscious. My ring can determine no boundaries to it, and only a very few gravitational anomalies. There are several asteroids, or astral bodies that pass as such, over in that direction…." He pointed, then suddenly consulted his ring again. "…and, it seems, there are some life forms over there."

"Finally! We may get some answers. Let's head over that way." He started off, only to have her clear her throat. "A— _hem!_ Forgetting something, are we?"

"Oh, right." He flew back and allowed her to grab onto his belt. She'd long since told him she'd be damned if she went everywhere being carried in his arms like the bride of freakin' Frankenstein. All she needed was just a handhold inside his belt, and, in this weightlessness, she could go wherever he went. He'd shrugged and acquiesced the point.

Besides, although she'd rather die than admit it, this way, she got the chance to check out his tush.

There were a few pebbles floating in this strangely atmosphere-filled vastness, and, judging by the speed by which they were passing them, Rose and Ragnar were traveling at a high rate of speed. There; up there, up against a bit of more solid seeming mass of reddish haze, were some figures floating in the void in front of it. Rose thought it looked as though they were somehow self-propelled, like they were flying through the empty redness.

It really wasn't a bad tush, at all.

As they got closer, they saw that the figures seemed to consist of humans or humanoids wearing heavy red robes with hoods pulled up over their heads, completely obscuring their faces. Although they were still afar off, the faces within the hoods seemed human. Most seemed scared.

All at once, several red figures resembling nothing more than Earthly cartoon devils, humanoid figures with red skin, barbed tails, with horns on their heads, descended upon the group without warning. All but one of the floating, flying figures fled, but the devils caught that one, and dragged it away, back into the void itself. A female's screams reached their ears.

Rose knew Ragnar well enough by now to automatically grab hold of his belt again, as he took off, pursuing the flying devils. They dragged their screaming captive to a large asteroid that had a large opening in one side. There, heedless of her screams, they began to tear away at her robe, revealing that she was wearing nothing beneath it. Quickly and enthusiastically, they stripped her naked…

And Rose and Ragnar fell on them like avenging angels.

Rose herself might've entertained doubts about the reality of what they were seeing—this was, after all, the collective _un_ conscious; things here didn't have to be real (at least, not so far as they understood "real" to be)—but she knew her partner well enough to know that he wouldn't care if the tableau being played out before them was real or not. He was a man, and men simply have a psychological allergy to anything attacking a helpless female. He'd fight, no matter what the odds.

With ring and fist (which, she noticed, had sprouted sharp bony spurs from the knuckles), he beat back the hordes, driving them away from their prize. Rose fell into what had become, for them, their standard battle formation: back to back. "There must be a thousand of these things," she shouted.

He snarled and swung his mace of a fist. "Make that nine hundred ninety nine!" His ring beam lanced out, catching six devils in its beam. "Nine hundred ninety-three!"

Ragnar blasted many of the devils with beams from his ring, while skillfully, ambidextrously smashing small red skulls into bloody tatters with his fist. Rose sliced and stabbed, just as ambidextrously; these creatures might look like cartoon devils with oversized yellow eyes, and outsized heads, grinning vacantly, but they seemed to bleed well enough, red blood, and a severed limb or head stayed that way. Nor was she limited to just her swords. Many a devil caught a foot or an elbow to the throat or the side of the head; Rose saw no point in taking prisoners. Aside from the girl's continued screams, and Rose and Ragnar's occasional grunts, there was no other sound. The devils fought and died—if "died" was the correct term—in absolute silence.

The girl, meanwhile, lay on the ground between them, huddled into a fetal ball, hands behind her head, shivering and crying. The two above her were very careful to keep her in the "safe" zone between them, where she could not be yanked out by an opportunistic devil from the side.

Again and again they fought off one wave of devils after another. The devils (if that's what they were) seemed to have no concept of personal safety or concern; apparently all they wanted was their prey.

Prey that was denied them. After many waves had been destroyed, the remaining devils withdrew into the interior areas of the cave, not bothering with their wounded or dead. Rose understood why when both began to simply dissolve from sight, as did the blood they'd both become spattered with.

"C'mon, grab her and let's get out of here before they regroup and come back." Ragnar picked up the still-fetal girl, just as Rose sheathed her swords and hooked her fingers in his belt, and the trio took off, into the red darkness outside.

They found a somewhat smaller asteroid a short ways off. It, too, had a small cavity, or hollow in one side. To Rose's cautious eye, these hollows were beginning to look far too convenient and well-shaped to be completely and totally coincidental.

A quick checkout revealed no signs of any life forms, or places where such might be hiding. The entrance offered a good, defensible spot. The interior of the hollow was illuminated with a soft red light that seemed to have more of a yellowish tinge to it. There was even a gentle gravity field inside, holding objects onto the "floor."

The girl was kneeling, huddled in an almost-fetal position in spite of Rose's best efforts to reassure her. Rose treated her cuts and bruises with the first-aid kit she kept in her belt. The crying girl had latched onto Ragnar, and seemed afraid of the white-haired human swordswoman, as opposed to the more unusual-looking blue skinned Gold Lantern, to whom she clung. "Come on," urged Rose, "I gotta get these cuts seen about." Although she privately doubted that there was anything of a bacteriological nature here in this strange space to worry about, better safe than sorry. "Careful," she said to Ragnar, "don't go sprouting chest spikes into her. I don't have anything for _that._ " He gave her a look. _You just do your job, and I'll do mine._

What few tattered strips of cloth she still had on hung from her neck and shoulders, and she had nothing else on. She kept trying to cover up. "Here," said Ragnar. At first, Rose thought he was going to offer her some part of his uniform, then remembered: any Lantern Corps' uniform is actually a solid-light projection of their rings. Beneath the illusion of his Gold Lantern uniform, Ragnar could have been wearing anything or nothing, though privately, knowing him, she doubted the latter.

Instead, he turned his ring on the ground and walls of their cave, and Rose realized what he was doing: the ring itself couldn't directly create permanent clothes for the girl to wear, but he _could_ use its energies to rearrange the local atoms and molecules into a semblance of the garment she'd been wearing.

The red robe formed around the girl, who seemed to take a certain amount of comfort in once again having something on. Rose could see how that would bolster the kid's confidence. "Th-thank you," she said, in a low voice, not looking up.

"Just doin' our job. Who are you?" Rose finished up on the last of the minor cuts the girl had on her face. As she worked, she carefully examined the girl in question. In this strange space, it was quite possible for anything to be anything. Anything at all.

The girl appeared to be no older than sixteen, if that, with blond hair that fell in gentle curves to her shoulders. Her eyes—when Rose could pry her head up to look at her—were a light powder blue. A straight nose, pointed chin, fine regular features. Rather pretty girl, for a kid. She surely couldn't be out of high school. "I…I don't know."

"You don't know? What's your name?"

"I, I don't know. I mean, I remember having a name, but, but I don't remember what mine is." She looked upon her rescuers as though seeing them for the first time. "I….what….where is this place?" Her eyes took on a terrified look. "Am I dead? Is that what it is? Is this Hell?"

"No, you're not dead, and this isn't Hell," Ragnar responded. She turned to look up at him, standing silently beside her. Her eyes traveled over him, the gold and black uniform, lingering on the insignia on his chest, eyes widening as they finally came to rest on his blue-skinned face. "Who—who are you? A-and where am I?"

"Actually," began Rose, "we were sorta hoping _you_ could tell _us._ But that would've made things too simple." She blew out a breath, marveling once again how, in this seemingly endless void, there was a breathable atmosphere.

Of course, if she understood Bertran correctly, nothing here was really "real," at least as humans in the waking world understood it. "What's the first thing you remember? I mean, here?"

The girl paused and thought, hard. "I…I'm not sure. I was walking, I think…no, that wasn't here. Something….a phone rang. That wasn't here, either. But, but then I found myself…floating in space, dressed…dressed like this. And, and being very, very afraid."

"Looks like you had good reason to be. Any idea why?"

"No." The girl started crying again, her tears running in rivulets down her face. " _Why? What is this place? What am I doing here? Who are you? And, and what were those, those…."_ She was bordering on hysteria.

Ragnar took her into his arms. "It's okay, miss. Everything's alright now. It's alright. Just calm down. We'll get everything sorted out, okay? It's alright. We won't leave you and we won't let anybody hurt you." And he kept on murmuring to her, holding her to his chest, stroking her hair. She clung to him, sobbing and hiccupping. Rose watched, partly in amazement and partly in disgust.

Both Ragnar and the girl were, in her opinion, seriously afflicted with a bad case of BSM syndrome ("big, strong man"): Ragnar, to be the BSM (because that was just him all over), and the girl, who seemed to need, no, make that _crave_ that, for some reason that seemed to go beyond the usual whys and wherefores. Of course, thought Rose, perhaps she was being a little unfair here. From her looks and apparent age, it looked as though the worst thing that could have happened to the kid so far was the possibility of being late for gym class. Going from that to "sexual assault by demons in a hellish, incomprehensible space" raised the bar quite a bit. She left them to their own devices for a moment and explored the cave, the asteroid, they found themselves in.

The asteroid, or whatever it was, appeared to be extremely rough textured reddish rock, similar to volcanic basalt. The flooring of the hollow they found themselves in seemed far too smooth and level to be totally natural.

But then she remembered what Bertran had told them: this was the collective subconscious of intelligence. It was supposed to be a reflection of the waking world, to one degree or another. Somewhere in this vast space—which she dearly hoped wasn't truly infinite—was the specific "locale" or "code" that reflected M'gann M'orzz's subconscious… and with it the horror meme that Bertron had implanted in her. If there was a way of fighting the thing, of unraveling it, doing something to it, it would be here. But where to look? This place was like outer space…where to start?

Ragnar was sitting over by the opening, his legs actually dangling into the red void around them. The reddish coloration was uneven, and it was his theory (based on what his ring told him) that it was due to a vast cloud of dust or gas they currently found themselves in. This was bad in that, even though it was still very diffuse, it could block his ring's sensors.

The girl was seated right beside him, and something about the way she sat, or perhaps her close proximity to the Gold Lantern set off warning bells in Rose's mind. She eased up for a better view…

Ragnar was sitting on his perch, concentrating on his ring and the information it was feeding directly into his brain, completely unconscious of the little slip of a girl seated next to him. The girl was practically in his lap, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his arm, fingers lightly running up and down, her eyes closed, her expression one of pure and utter bliss…

" _Ahem._ " The girl jumped slightly, looking up at Rose guiltily. Ragnar just looked up, irritated that she should interrupt him. Of course, practically everything she did irritated him, so he guessed he couldn't go by that. "A moment of your valuable time, _M'sieu?_ "

He got up and followed her deeper into the hollowed out space. "Okay, what is it?

"Oh, nothing much. Just that you need to watch it with that kid. You were one very short joyous leap away from being kissed to death, back there."

"Oh, you're out of your mind. Again. Or still. I haven't decided."

"Yeah? If you'd had a shirt pocket, she would've been in it. Or did you really not notice her rubbing up against you like a cat? She was practically jilling off, just sitting there by you."

"Jill—* If I live to be a thousand, I will never understand your crazy Earth idioms. So she's cold. That's no crime. I'll heat some rocks up…"

"She's _not_ cold at all! Are you really that dense-* Wait. Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. Yeah, you _are_ that dense. All I'm saying is watch it. I don't know how things are here, but keep in mind, _this is not the waking world._ This is more like a dream world, and in dreams, sometimes people do things they normally couldn't be paid to do when awake. Like try to fuck the first Gold Lantern they see."

"Potty mouth. I still say you're crazy."

"Yeah, an' you'll probably keep right on saying it, too, until she swarms all over you. And you know, there could easily be other reasons for her actions." A horrible notion was starting to form in her mind. This place…this place was based on the waking world… "What's your ring telling you about this place?"

He shook his head, bringing up his ring. "Not much. There's an atmosphere—where it's coming from, I don't know—in the extreme distance, I'm picking up some faint gravitational anomalies. They could be planets or stars. Right around here: nothing. Just the occasional rock, like this one. With its own gravity field, but they don't register as gravitational vortices somehow. No life forms. No idea what the red haze is. But I know more what it's not."

"What?"

"Not gas or dust. But as to what it actually-*"

"Excuse me?" The girl had come up behind him. "Mr. Gold Lantern? I, I'm scared. Could I stay here with you?"

Rose just rolled her eyes. Of course, she knew what Ragnar's response would be even before he made it: "Of course you can. Come on. I'll heat some rocks up over here…are you cold?" The two made their way back towards the opening of the ledge in the asteroid. She, herself moved off to get a better view of the distant points of light that she guessed were stars, using the scanner Bertran had supplied them with. She glanced back at the pair, huddled by some glowing hot rocks Ragnar's ring had heated up. _I sure hope Megan appreciates all the effort I'm expending to keep Little Miss Jailbait there outta her boyfriend's pants._

Ragnar, meanwhile, went back to his scanning, his ring traversing one corner of the visible universe to the next. She knew he was looking for a specific "event," as it was called: the one the waking world called Miss Martian.

Bertran had given Rose a device that should identify the general region where the Martian girl's personal signature—the area which could be called "her" to the best of anyone's ability, here in this timeless void. It was having a difficult time cutting through the clutter, whatever it was. Still, there was no sign of anything that might indicate the Martian girl's whereabouts. Did Martians dream on the same "frequency" as humans? That was unknown.

Ragnar was seated, cross-legged, by the still-glowing rocks, his attention wholly concentrated on his ring. Its far-ranging beams told him a lot about this strange place, and he needed that to learn to deal with it.

Essentially, this…void seemed to consist of a kind of shared dreamworld for humankind and others. Due to its size, the actual number of humans in it were, of necessity, relatively small.

He became aware of the girl, who'd once again sidled up to him, and was now clutching his arm. "Mr. Ragnar? Sir? C-can I sit in your lap? Please?"

That was a kind of a strange request, but he saw no harm in it, so he motioned for her to do so. "But I am in the midst of some long-range scanning, to see if there's someplace where we might get you to safety. Return you to the waking world, in other words. So try not to distract me, okay?"

"I understand," she said in a dreamy voice, even as she crawled into his lap. He was reminded of a kitten cuddling up with its mother and littermates. Well, okay; if it helped her. He guessed. "Don't know that I wanna go back," she said. Now that was a strange thing to say, he thought. Of course she'd want to go back.

She settled in, her head on his chest, while he scanned and rescanned. "You're a nice man."

"Hm? Oh, uh, thank you."

"You're a hero, too. My hero."

"Thank you. My pleasure."

"In fact, you're the nicest, most heroic man I know."

"Er…."

"You saved me from those devils, those things. You're my hero." _Now_ Ragnar was beginning to become a bit concerned. This girl in his lap, running her hands over him was beginning to set off some alarm bells.

He saw Rose smirking in their direction _._

The girl snuggled in even closer, wrapping her legs around his torso, and settling in in a _most_ intimate way. "Would you kiss me, Mr. Ragnar?" And without waiting for an answer, she proceeded to grasp his head in her hands and kiss him passionately, with no indication of stopping. He looked up, as best he could, and saw a still smirking Rose, standing over them. He gestured, towards the girl in his lap.

She came over, languidly, in no great hurry. "Yes? Something the matter, Ray? There's no way it could possibly be that there's a girl latched onto your face, now is there? 'Cos, I mean, you were the one told me I was crazy for thinking something like that might happen, so I know it couldn't possibly be _that…"_ She noticed his expression getting dangerous. The girl still hadn't let up. "Oh, all right. Hold your breath." She drew forth an ampule from her belt, broke it open underneath the girl's nose. The girl immediately lost consciousness, and fell back in Ragnar's arms.

"Okay, I confess: it hurts to admit it, but you were right and I was wrong. But how did you know?"

"I recognized the stereotypes. Especially here in dreamspace. The helpless female. The damsel in distress. The big strong man, the hero type. You. The knight in shining armor." She tapped the glowing insignia on his chest. "In your case, _literally_ shining armor. The rescue. And the aftermath. They're really not that hard to place…once you accept that this is a 'dream'. This is dreamspace, Ragnar. The subconscious. The ancient memes and patterns of thinking that have followed humanity down through thousands of years are real here." She looked down at the sleeping girl. "What happens here is a reflection of what happens in the waking world." She shrugged. "Now, her nightmare was about to become her wet dream." She thought for a minute. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. Waaaaaaiiite a minute. No. Couldn't possibly be. On second thought…I can't think of any reason why _not._ In fact, it almost _has_ to be!"

Ragnar had gingerly put the unconscious girl down as gently as he could. "Why do I have the distinct impression that whatever you're about to say is something I'll really regret hearing?"

"Because you've already halfway figured it out for yourself. But you're not gonna like it…..!"

"Then don't tell me. Whatever it is, there's no need for me…."

"But there is. Because you're the only one of us who has a chance of making it happen."

"Making _what_ happen?"

"Think: this is the dream dimension, basically. What happens here is a reflection of events in the real world, okay? With me so far? And remember: subconscious. So the old stereotypes, the old ideas, the old notions have a solid foothold on this place."

"Okay…."

"So according to that theory—which we're basing our own search on—Little Miss Make-Out here _really was attacked_ out there, 'out there' being the real world. Not by devils, or at least, I guess not, but you know. So now, if my notion's correct, she's probably languishing in some hospital somewhere, probably recovering from injuries, the injuries of being gang raped. It must've been a terribly traumatic thing, so traumatic it landed her _here_. And, here, in dreamspace…she's become 'stuck': she keeps reliving that horrible moment. She probably _can't_ break out. She's probably been in a coma ever since it happened."

"I will _find_ those, those… _beings_ and rip them apart!"

"I'll help you but that's not the point. The point is, here we have the chance to interrupt the cycle she's undergoing. Rather than being a constant victim, over and over and over again—and remember, there's no telling how long this has been going on—we have the chance to set her free. You—we—have already rescued her, so that's one step. And you're the 'knight in shining armor,' the BSM—"

"BSM?"

"Tell you later. Anyway, you're her hero. Okayfine. So the cycle's been interrupted, at least. Her own subconscious mind knows what she needs. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that's not what drew us here, to this general area, in the first place: her need for a hero to come save her.

"But what she needs right now is closure."

He rubbed his chin. Surprisingly, it did make a lot of sense to him. He could see it. "But what do you mean by 'closure'? What sort of closure?" She just continued to look at him oddly, a crafty smile on her face.

"Something _only you_ can provide, Ray. _Only you_ ….'sweetheart.'"

And the peculiar emphasis she put on that last word caused him to, reflexively, glance around for an escape route.

…

"You _can't_ be serious."

"As a heart attack. Think about it: the damsel in distress. The heroic prince, the knight in shining armor. The rescue. Now the happily ever after part. Ray, what did you think the 'happily ever after' part _meant?_ After Prince Charming woke Sleeping Beauty, and carried her off to his castle, and closed and bolted the doors shut behind them, drawing up the drawbridge…what do you _think_ they did then? Well, this the same thing. This is the closure. Rather than have her memories cycling forever in that horrific closed loop, now you can help her break out of that cycle. She gets to dream about being rescued. All you have to do is…" And here she couldn't help but giggle, just a little. The expression on his face was just so priceless. "Wake her up, and let her have you. Her mind knows what she needs, on a subconscious level; just let her do it."

"But, but I…!"

"I know, I know. You're being called on to basically make love to someone you don't know—and who's probably underage, but I think it's safe to say that's the least of everybody's problems—and, let's face it, do something you aren't all that comfortable with doing. Are you?"

He dropped his gaze. "No. But…I want to help her." His eyes closed in a pain that was not physical. "But, Rose! I'd feel like I was taking advantage of the poor girl! I just couldn't do it!"

"Of course you can." She got right in front of him, a lascivious grin on her face. "As the old commercial used to go, 'You can do it,'" and here she held up his hand, the one that had his power ring on it, "'We can help.'"

Soon, the girl was busily making clumsy but enthusiastic love to Ragnar…or, more accurately, to what she thought was Ragnar, but was actually a solid-light projection from his ring, while he and Rose watched from behind some rocks off to one side. Ragnar's face was flaming red, in spite of his natural blue coloration. Rose just crouched there and seemed to be enjoying the show, her hand on his wrist. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to give the poor girl some privacy, could I?" _Not to mention me. I feel like you're watching_ _me_ _have sex!_

"Hell, no. This is better than Netflix. Besides, I have to watch." Her hand was on his wrist. She was guiding the movements of the doppelganger, even as he continued to project it. So "Ragnar's" part, at least, was under her direction. "You keep on supplying the juice, and just let my thoughts make the doppelganger move. Couldn't be simpler. And let's face it: you really don't know exactly what to do in this kind of situation, anyway, now do you?" Then, while he hid his face from the _totally embarrassing_ tableau before them, she paused a moment, and turned to him. "Say, Ray. Are you really that, er…I mean, is that really what you look like, under it all _?_ "

A puzzled look. "That solid-light duplicate of me is just that, a duplicate. Except for my uniform, of course. And, uh, clothes in general. Why? What do you mean?"

"I mean….oh, never mind." She caught a glimpse of his face, and almost burst out laughing. "You oughtta see your face! Oh, this is better than Christmas!"

"What's a Christmas?"

"Tell ya later. And you don't have to watch; you just supply the power, and let me drive." Her hand stayed lightly on his wrist, even as he projected the beams of golden light across space, to converge and become the solidogram that the girl was so enthusiastically sexing. "You just keep on supplying the power, I'll give the direction. We'll make this a night to remember for her!"

"Rose, I-*"

"Shuddup. Just let me do the driving. Oh, and here…" He felt a small twinge down in his lower abdomen. "Rose, what'd you just do to me?"

"Can it, ya big crybaby. I just teleported a few of your antibodies into her. God only knows what she could've been exposed to, and a piece of your Doomsday immune system can't hurt." She grinned down at him. "Almost done."

"I swear you're enjoying this."

The girl herself was finishing up, lying rapturously across the solid light hologram of Ragnar, moving into a resting position, a satisfied smile on her face, eyes closing in ecstasy. "I love you, Mr. Ragnar. I'll never leave you. I'll stay with you forever." But even as she said those last whispered words, her form began to fade out, and she became less and less visible, finally fading out altogether.

Rose and Ragnar walked over to the place where she'd been. Ragnar had let the solid-light duplicate of himself dissolve at about the same time as the girl had faded out. Rose looked down at the spot where the girl had been. "Well, if what we understand about this place is accurate, that indicates a 'win,'" Rose said. "At least, I guess it is. Had things not gone well, she would still be here, with those rapey devils coming for her yet again. Can you use your ring to see if she reappeared anywhere else?"

But he was already scanning for her. "Nowhere near by, at least. So…what happened to her?"

Rose shook her head. "Not really sure. But if Bertran's theories about this place are accurate, see, then she either woke up, back on Earth, or at least came to a kind of consciousness, a higher level of subconsciousness, maybe—hopefully-with no memory of the attack, just some dream about being in danger and being saved and, and, you know. The rest." She looked up at him, grinning. "So you're her dream lover, or something. She may not remember you precisely, but she'll always have this, this _feeling_ in the back of her head, a memory she may not be able to quite remember, but also can never quite forget. Her 'knight in shining armor,' who came to her rescue when she needed it the most."

"Fat lot of good I did. I couldn't save her from the attack. That had already happened."

Rose sobered. "But you did, Ray. You saved her from the worst part of it."

He was silent for a moment. Then, "I wonder if we'll ever know."

Rose shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck and sighing. "Probably not. Such…attacks are altogether too commonplace. You'd have to go to practically every hospital in the nation and check on every newly recovered coma victim. And, mind you, that's not counting that she might've been in some other type of facility, like say, a long-term care facility, or at home, or even, God forbid, just lying unconscious in some alleyway somewhere." She saw his distress at the possibility of this last. "Oh, I don't think those are strong possibilities, Ray. Just possible ones. Not even very likely."

More silence. "Say, I'm curious: how much feedback did you incorporate into that doppelganger of yours, anyway? How much did you feel of…what was going on?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Just….enough to, to maintain some control. I, I didn't want to, to….you know."

Her grin grew broader, even as they moved towards the lip of the cave, preparing to resume their search. "Yeah, but…how much did _you_ feel? What was it like? C'mon; you can tell me…"

"A gentleman doesn't discuss those things."

"So who's a gentleman? I'm asking _you._ C'mon…"

Across dimensions: Gradually, ever so gradually, Susan Anderson became aware of the subdued lighting in the room she was in. "My knight," she whispered.

Instantly, her brother was there by her side, taking her hand. "Don't try to move, Sue. Just take it easy. Every-everything's okay now, it's all under control…" Of course everything was most definitely _not_ "okay" or "under control," but his sister didn't need to deal with that right then. One thing at a time.

"My knight," she whispered again, through broken lips. She'd taken a severe beating during the attack, and had broken ribs, a cracked ulna, and several loosened teeth, but all that could be repaired. Jonathon wept when he realized the most important part of his sister was still here, still with them. "My knight. I, I've got to find him."

"Who? Who are you talking about, Sue?" He bent closer to hear her whispered words.

"My knight. The one who saved me. He wore golden armor. His name…it starts with an 'R'…"

He patted her hand. Poor thing. Nobody had "saved" her; she hadn't even been found until a routine patrol just happened across her. By then the deed was hours old. "Something….something starts with an 'R'…Robert, maybe? No, not Robert…. I can't remember.

"I….have to find him…."

Behind the two, the comic book Jon had been reading lay forgotten on the couch, open to the last page at which he'd stopped. Jon glanced back, just before pushing the nurse call button. _Wish there really were such things as superheroes. We sure could'a used one a month ago._

On the cover of the comic book he'd just been reading there was displayed a full-color illustration of a blue-skinned man, wielding a gold power ring and wearing a gold-and-black uniform, flying through space…

 _To be continued…._


	23. Chapter 23: After the Battle

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 23: After the Battle

…..

 _I don't own either Young Justice, the Justice League, or the Green Lantern Corps. I couldn't afford the taxes._

… _.._

Chapter 23: After the Battle

Mt. Justice: the Team conferred, via teleconference, with the JLI, after the battle. _"Well, I think we can safely say this operation produced mixed results."_ J'onn's voice was, as always, the very definition of "dry." _"We did not apprehend or eliminate Blood, but we did gain access to many of his files. And, by all appearances, we seemed to've forestalled, at least, the demonic invasion."_

" _If that's what Blood was really after in the first place,"_ interjected Wonder Woman. _"His opening of the gate would have threatened his own power, unless he'd made some sort of deal with Trigon. Which, I admit, is possible."_

"How about the prisoners, sir? Many of them were in pretty bad shape."

" _They're receiving the best medical care there is. They came very narrowly close to being 'sacrificed,' but for some reason, Blood seemed to hesitate. Almost like he changed his mind. At any rate, we demolished his organization here on the West Coast, and have information leading us to other cells. We're sending you a complete report on our findings; it could be important, since I doubt this is the last time we'll cross paths with him."_ And with that, J'onn broke communications.

Nightwing sat back in his chair, at the ops table, while the others looked on. It had been a sobering experience, they all agreed. Usually battling supervillains was a time to wind down a bit, but not only had Blood escaped, all they'd managed to do was shut down one isolated node. None of them, not even Wally, could see that as a total success. "Well, I suppose this meeting is adjourned."

 _I think I go train some on what I'll fondly think of as Blood's face._

On the way out, Cassie once again cornered him, in the kitchenette. "Dick? What was that about Blood hesitating? We've never known him to hesitate to do something awful before."

"I dunno, Cassie. J'onn said the prisoners stated it was almost like he changed his mind..."

"More like he had his mind changed for him," said an unfamiliar voice behind them. "Brother Smith is now Brother Blood." They whirled, to see the dark warrior approaching them from main rec area, as calmly and casually as if he did this every day. He went over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, while they stared. "Hmp. Coffee's cold. And weak."

"How—How did you get in here? And, and who the devil are you, anyway?" demanded Nightwing, backing off and drawing his batons. Wonder Girl readied herself as well, even as some of the others filtered in, hearing the commotion from the outer office.

The warrior smirked. "'Who the devil' indeed. If only you knew. The devil's the one I'm chasing, and, once again, thanks to one of you, he got away."

"What are you talking about?"

He motioned over to the couch, where lay a slender female form in silver and black. He nodded towards the semi-conscious girl. "One of yours, I presume?"

"What?!" Aqualad immediately moved towards the Silver Lantern. "If you've hurt her…."

"Oh, get real. If I'd 'hurt' her, why would I bring her here? It seems she had a disagreement with a pulse bomb. I know you have ring wielders in your group; I thought she might belong to you."

"She's not one of ours…who are you, anyway?"

"None of the names I've ever had would mean anything to you. But you and I," and here he turned to Batgirl and Wonder Girl, "have a history. I doubt you remember me, however."

"We've _met?_ How is that…" A suspicion was beginning to form in Barbara Gordon's mind. Wonder Girl just looked puzzled.

The Batgirl gasped. "You… No! It can't be! But that was…."

"Thousands of years ago. Tens of thousands. Yes. I was the chieftain's son, dying of gangrene in that village you and your friend came to. You injected nanobot repair units into me, in an effort to heal me. It didn't exactly work…at least not the way you'd intended."

"But…" She was at a loss for words.

The dark warrior turned back to the group. "I still died, in a manner of speaking. But the ancient burial grounds where my people buried me had a unique property, it seemed."

Nightwing nodded. It was all beginning to make sense now. "Kryptonite."

"Kryptonite. The radiation mutated the nanobots so that they essentially rewrote and replaced my entire genetic code. Into this." And he gestured to himself. "And so I rejoined the land of the living."

But here he turned to Batgirl, almost savagely, it seemed. "Only to find they, my whole tribe, had been killed. Slaughtered, by a rival tribe. And more than just killed; they'd actually been _eaten._ It took me over fifty winters to track down every member of that tribe. But I saw to it they'd not kill again."

The others were silent, taking it all in. Batgirl was trying to sum up all the years since their journey into the past….how long ago had it been? Ten thousand years ago? Thirty thousand years ago?

A hundred thousand?

Suddenly, they heard a low moan come from the couch, as the Silver Lantern began to regain full consciousness.

Instantly, Aqualad was at her side, checking her pulse. With her helmet obscuring the upper portion of her face, he couldn't check her pupils, but her pulse was good and strong. She moaned again, moving her arms, half-consciously feeling the couch she was lying on.

"If she's not one of yours," remarked the dark warrior, "you might want to exercise a certain amount of caution. She keeps mumbling about something called 'the Unity.' Doesn't sound like she's completely with the program, as the saying goes. She could wake up in full combat mode."

"It's alright, miss," said Aqualad, squatted beside her, her hand in his. He knew better than to try to remove the power ring; if this was anything like the ones wielded by the Green Lantern Corps, it wouldn't come off until she died. "Somebody get her some water."

Wally brought a cooled bottle of Dasani almost before he'd finished speaking. Even though her head was half-covered by the silver helmet, they could tell she was a young woman of surpassing beauty. Wally, in particular, always felt his heart beat a little faster in the presence of such loveliness.

Her eyes opened suddenly, and she started upon seeing all the costumed adventurers around her. Her gaze ranged around, then settled upon the dark warrior, and her eyes widened. She began to raise the hand that had her power ring on it.

"Easy!" The dark warrior backpedalled, palms of his hands open in a pacifying gesture. "Fight's over; you won."

If anything, she looked more confused. "The Unity…is the Unity preserved?" She held up the ring, seeming to consult with it. "I…sense no great disruption. What has happened?"

"That's a long story. First, introductions. Who are you?"

"St-* I mean, I'm Silver Lantern."

 _A newbie,_ thought Nightwing. She'd almost said her real name. But she'd caught herself just in time. "I'm Nightwing." He proceeded to make introductions all around. Then he came to the dark warrior. "Say. You never did tell us what to call you."

The hunter was already halfway to the exit. "Call me 'gone,'" he said, over his shoulder, even as he left, as silently as he came.

 _Hm. Loner much?_ Thought Nightwing. Then he turned his attention back to the girl, the Silver Lantern. "Are you alright? We heard you tried to contain the energy of a pulse bomb."

"Yes." She sat up, looking around her with interest. Where was this place? And who were these people? They'd told her their names, but names can have many meanings. "It would have greatly disturbed the Unity."

"The Unity, yes. Uh, exactly what is this 'Unity'? In case it comes up again." _Which it probably will._

She stared at him a moment, long enough for him to remember that, in some cases, the various power rings had been known to affect the wearer's mind. Then, "The Unity is all. All those who love, or are loved, who belong together, to whom separation would be painful, hurtful…these are the Unity. Those to whom injustice would cause pain and heartache…these are the Unified."

"Uhm, right." _Definitely something a little odd going on with the reasoning processes._ "Okay, we can deal with that. You don't want to see people hurt; neither do we."

Her gaze sharpened and she straightened her posture. "Yet you were prepared to threaten the Unity."

"Only to save others from being…disunited. And it didn't come to that, not by us, anyway."

"That…is true." She put her hand to her head, as though with a headache. "But I must preserve the Unity. And… _He_ comes."

"'He'? You mean Brother Blood?"

"No…worse. He is the destroyer of worlds, the Annihilator of all that is, the Maker of Ashes.

"He is _Inferno._ "

…..

"… _On behalf of the Martian High Council, I convey our deepest and most sincere gratitude to you, Bertran, for your willingness to aid us in this crisis, regarding one of our own."_

"You are most welcome, councilor. Considering her relationship with my son's friends here on Earth, I would be seriously remiss if I did not do what I could."

" _Er, yes, her relationship. Tell me, mistress, how is she doing physically? I know that your progress with the removal of the horror meme has been…problematic. But is she doing well from a purely physical standpoint?"_

Bertran narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly. That last question had had a rather peculiar inflection to it, something that caused her to wonder why it was asked, and in the way it was asked. "Yes, councilor, from a purely physical standpoint, there appears to be nothing wrong with her. Of course, her shape-shifting powers are much more limited now than before, due to much of trauma she has undergone, and her telepathy, as of right now, is line of sight only, but, aside from those aspects, she appears to be in excellent physical health. Is that what you were asking?"

" _Yes, yes. As you know, there are very, very few of us left, throughout the universe. Whether white Martian or green matters little anymore. She is one of us, a member of a family that has been reduced to near extinction."_ Which was true. Not long ago, explorers had found a carefully buried and hidden system of caverns deep underneath the surface of Mars. Contained within were one hundred green Martians in suspended animation, hibernating during the vicious wars that had depopulated the planet above. They had been a last resort for the Martian people, a desperate play to avoid a holocaust that could have extinguished the entire species, both white and green. Upon awakening, the green Martians had immediately begun to rebuild their shattered civilization from the base physical, as well as the economical. Fortunately, for them, the entire resources of Mars itself had been theirs to control, and they had rapidly established profitable trade agreements with both Earth and Raan, and were making successful overtures to other such races as frequented the Sol system.

The end result, at least so far, was that they were all quite wealthy and influential. And, since there had been so few of them, almost all of them were of a single, extended, albeit highly attenuated family.

Starting with records carefully preserved from their previous civilization, they had re-established the Martian Mystics, and were in the process of exporting various ores and rare substances to Earth, for a healthy profit. Both Earth and Mars benefited from this arrangement, and many a major political career was being made on the continued good accords of Mars towards Earth. Quite naturally, many Earth organizations bent over backwards to assist them in recovering from their species-wide near-disaster, not always for political or financial gain. Echoes of the Earthly Holocaust still reverberated mightily in many people's brains, and many not-for-profit and grassroots organizations had been formed to save the Martian species from extinction, of which there was still a possibility. Their numbers were not yet to the point of assured genetic survival. So of course it made sense that they would be concerned about the health and well-being of one of their own.

Nonetheless there was something a little odd in the councilor's inflection when the question had been asked, something that put Bertran on her guard. "I am, of course, monitoring her condition closely, based on the possibility, slight as it is, that the horror meme may be integrated with a physical counterpart…a sabotage function, as it were. So far, I've seen no indication of such, but evidently my counterpart in this universe did not lack for cunning. It would be unwise to underestimate him, at any juncture."

" _Of course. We completely agree with you. And, once again, I would like to offer our sincere thanks for all that you've done. I trust you will keep us informed as to your progress?"_ Megan had agreed, before her stint with the Martian Mystics, to keep the High Council informed of her progress. That agreement, as far as anyone knew, still held.

But Bertran…was beginning to wonder if that was wise. Something was wrong, some alarm bells were going off in the back of her mind that wouldn't quite coalesce into anything definite. "Of course, councilor. I will keep you apprised." And the connection was broken.

"Mom?" Doomsday was in the door way. He hadn't wanted to interrupt the conversation, but he knew his mother well enough to know when something was bothering her. "Is something the matter?"

Bertran was silent for a moment. Then, "Maybe not. Indeed, probably not." _At least, I hope not._

 _Because, for some reason, the direction of that conversation was quite troubling to me._

….

After a short period of saying as little as possible, Stacey left Mt. Justice. Nightwing had cautioned her about the covert nature of their organization, and extended a tentative invitation, based as much on that fact that she now knew the Team's headquarters as any genuine need. She had told him she'd think it over. He was a good enough judge of character to know that she would be discreet about the group and their location. And he took the time to warn her about the possibility of being followed.

Her face quirked a smile at that. She _did_ know a _few_ things.

Back to her familiar room. She hurt! Evidently, trying to contain the energy of that pulse bomb had sent her flying through several layers of rock and earth. The ring had automatically protected her, but its ability had been tested. The dark warrior had brought her to the Team's headquarters in case she needed medical attention, as the best possible place. Hospitals were notoriously unable to help most costumed adventurers, anyway.

She took the ring off her finger for a moment, just to settle down, and put her pajamas back on. It wouldn't be long 'till sunrise, and today was a work day.

Wait. Something…something was different. The Unity…yes, she could understand about the Unity, those living beings united in love and companionship…but her perspective on it seemed to have changed. Yes, the Unity was important, and there was much, much more to it than just…than "just" families, but…now it was almost like she'd been a different person when she'd worn the ring. Not different, exactly, but….rather the same person with a different viewpoint, somehow. Not so different as to be somebody else totally, but….

She picked up the ring, held it in her hand. It gleamed in the low light of her room with a glow that seemed internal. _You would fight for the Unity,_ something whispered in her mind. _You would fight to keep others from experiencing the heartache and loss you nearly experienced yourself. This is Unity: that All have been One, once, and All will be One again, someday. Is this not your desire?_

She looked carefully at the ring. When she wore it, she was a different person. Not wildly different, not a split personality, but a person who saw things from another standpoint. A cosmic standpoint.

She knew she didn't have to ever put the ring back on her finger. She could put it in a box, and shove the box underneath her bed, or even bury it somewhere, where archeologists might someday dig it up, and wonder what it was. There was nothing forcing her to wear the ring. There was nothing forcing her to fight for the Unity.

But she knew she had to. She couldn't live with herself if she put the ring down and someone, someone's mother or father or little brother, died from some means she could've prevented.

From something _Silver Lantern_ could've prevented.

She put the ring back on her finger, and went to bed. In her sleep, she smiled in satisfaction.

The Unity was preserved.

 _To be continued..._


	24. Chapter 24: Legalities

Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 24: Legalities

…

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps._

…

Chapter 24: Legalities

" _Restraining order?_ " Nightwing couldn't sound more surprised. "We've been hit with a _restraining order?_ Against _Brother Blood?_ This is a joke, isn't it?" J'onn's face stared down at him from the screen.

" _I wish it were. No, the League in general has been supplied with such. Apparently, the Church of Blood has retained the services of a legal firm to represent them in court. This is the first measure."_

"Who in the world would represent that son of a…Brother Blood, I mean?"

" _The name on the papers is Cinder, Ashe, Burns, and Frye. They're stationed in New York. A new company, but one with and excellent track record so far."_ His face twisted in a manner evidently common to both Martians and humans. _"A little too excellent. Everything checks out, and we're to keep our distance from any established Church of Blood or affiliates, nationwide. The only thing I can say to you about this is, you can't possibly be more disgusted by this turn of events than I am."_

 _I wouldn't be so sure,_ thought Nightwing. "So we basically can't do anything?"

" _Basically. The wording is such that covert operations also fall under the same restraints. Someone's done their homework, as the saying goes."_

"Richard!" Cassie had just appeared in the doorway. She didn't even notice Nightwing talking to J'onn on the screen. "Come quick! You are not gonna buh- _leeve_ who's on TV!"

"Uh, excuse me, Cass? I'm on the phone?" She turned slightly, noticing J'onn for the first time. "J'onn! You, too! Turn to channel 243! The _Newell_ Report!" And she practically dragged Nightwing into the main rec area, where the others were staring, in some cases, open mouthed, at the image on the screen.

Robert Newell's guest was none other than Sebastian Blood.

Instead of his usual garb of skull-mask, and red and black tights, Blood was wearing a tailored three-piece suit, buttoned with an ecclesiastical collar. He looked every inch to be a respectable businessman, and exuded an air of calm confidence. Newell was in the midst of asking the young man a question: _"…hasn't had a lot of good press lately. What do you have to say to the charges of terrorism, imprisonment, etc.?"_

" _That they're all balderdash. My church has always operated out in the open. Our records are available to anyone with a computer and internet access."_ He warmed to the subject. _"It is quite true that some elements of society—possibly some rival churches—have made unfounded accusations against us. As I said, simply examine the record. See for yourselves. The Church of Blood is and has always been a legitimate operation, in every sense of the word. Now, be it admitted that our most sacred ceremonies are not for public viewing or the uninitiated or uninvited. There is ample precedent for this. As long as no laws are broken, we have the right to religious privacy, which we are claiming."_

" _But what about the accusations of torture, of abuse to persons unspecified, even of murder? There seem to be a great many of them. And many people, you can understand, would argue that's a huge amount of smoke for there to be no fire."_

" _Again, I say examine the records. Now, as for torture? Produce the victims. Even though we claim protection under the clause of separation of church and state, still we abide by the law. If we are to be accused, we've the right to face our accusers, no? So where are they?"_

"I don't believe it," muttered Wally. "He's actually defending himself. And, and he's… _believable._ "

"Yeah," said Aqualad. "He knows we _can't_ produce the torture victims without revealing our covert operations. It would blow our secrecy higher than up. And the Justice League…"

" _What about this latest incident, where the Justice League essentially attacked one of your most prominent churches? I understand the property damage alone is estimated in the hundreds of thousands, very possibly more."_

" _As you say, we were attacked. There was no cause for this. It was simply an assault on a religious group by an ever-more controlling government. I tell you, and I tell all your viewers,"_ and here, the image of Blood looked directly at the camera, the very picture of an innocent, sincere, _charismatic_ young priest, _"the day is coming when the state will outlaw the free expression of religion. You don't have to take my word for it. Watch the news. See what is happening around you. The state, ever more controlling, is invading every aspect of our lives. Already, parents cannot discipline their children for fear that Child Protective Services will take them away. There are states where owning the means to defend your home and family is a crime. There are locales in the U. S. where the citizens fear the police as much or more than they do the criminals. The government is exercising greater and greater control over the lives of everyday citizens. Many, many otherwise law-abiding citizens have been rendered criminals by a mere stroke of a pen. The government has to authorize the course curriculum taught in public schools and is endeavoring to do the same to private schools. It is an ever-tightening noose around the freedom of American citizens._

" _My church, my organization, serves as one last bastion of true freedom. The Church of Blood is open to all who wish to join. One does not have to be celibate; that is an outmoded concept, and riddled with failure simply due to human biology. So we don't require that. Come to a service, see what we're all about. Then decide for yourselves. Don't allow your minds to be made up for you. Find out the facts."_

"Maybe we should," muttered Wonder Girl, chewing on a fingernail. "We could find out-*"

"Exactly nothing, because we can't." Nightwing shared his communication with J'onn with the others. "So you see, we're under this restraining order, too. Covert group or no. We can't lift a finger."

The rest of them were silent, thinking about what they'd just heard.

" _Excuse me, Mr. Ah,…"_

" _Sebastian. Simply call me Sebastian."_

" _Er. Thank you. But, let me see if I understand you correctly: are you promoting rebellion?"_

" _By no means. I am promoting freedom. If that's seen as rebellion, as insurrection, perhaps that tells you more about the present day political situation better than I could describe. I do not condone open warfare with anyone._

" _But such a view does beg the question: precisely_ _who_ _would see the freedom to live as you wish as rebellion?"_

….

 _To be continued…_


	25. Chapter 25: Waking Realities

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 25: Waking Realities

….

 _I don't own either Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corp._

… _._

Shattered, Chapter 25: Waking Realities.

Ragnar was on that very delicate edge of sleep where he didn't know he was asleep, but _did_ know he wasn't awake. It was a marvelous feeling…no worries or problems. And, best of all, _no Rose_. Thinking about her _not being there_ made him smile all the more. He hugged his pillow to him, wishing it could be Megan.

But just as with the old Earth story about the Rajah whose flying carpet would only work when he did _not_ think of a white elephant, now that he thought how wonderful it was for Rose to _not_ be around, that very thought, that very worry, began to wake him up. Sooner or later, there she'd be, in his face, as the Earth saying went, annoying him with some damned nonsense that he probably didn't want or need to hear about anyway. Sometimes he just wanted to close his eyes and stop up his ears. He sighed and opened his eyes a crack.

With his unique biology, much of which seemed to stem from cells taken from the ravager of worlds, Doomsday, he'd found he didn't really need to sleep. But he found it improved his concentration and, yes, his temper, which he was trying to keep in check. It seemed that when he lost his temper, he began to take on Doomsday-ish characteristics. And he was deathly afraid of going down that slippery slope. There could easily be no way back.

He gradually became more and more aware of his surroundings. Just as well; he could tell he was up before the Cookie Monster clock-radio Megan Morse, his beloved Miss Martian had given him, went off. Megan had given him that clock as a gift, and he tried to take very good care of it. He treasured it so much that he had encased it in a protective plastic bag, and developed the habit of waking up early so as to avoid strain on it by having to press the "off" button too hard. Just a simple, light pressure. This was one gift he'd be certain to take _very_ good care of!

Especially since it was beginning to look like he and Megan were never going to get back together. When she'd been inexplicably discharged from the colony of Martian Mystics on Mons Olympus, he, like many others, had assumed she was either cured, or at least had been given some degree of control over the implanted meme that the evil alien scientist Bertron had crafted and placed within her: now, whenever she saw Ragnar, the one she loved, she felt unrelenting horror. But that had not been the case, and nobody had been able to explain to him why.

They had all tried everything the most advanced technology Earth had to offer, even going so far as to entreat the Guardians of the Universe, on Oa, for assistance, without any success whatsoever. J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, had appealed to the Mystics of Mars for their aid, thinking that where science failed, perhaps magic would not. But for some reason, the Mystics had discharged her, and nobody was saying why, or at least, nobody who was talking to Ragnar.

And the Martians apparently had had no better luck than anyone else. Nor would they discuss—with anyone—the reasons why Megan was discharged. Was it just because there was nothing more they could do? But somehow Rose had gotten the idea that there was more to it than that. "There's something they're not telling us, Ray. I don't know what, but it would have to be big." And she'd begun to think about it, utilizing a mind second only to Nightwing's for deductive reasoning. "I'll find out what it is."

At the present, Megan was under the care of Bertran, another universe's counterpart to Bertron, and the creator of the heroic Doomsday from that dimension. Bertran had suggested a highly unusual means of treatment that, she said, might offer some hope, being neither science nor magic.

There is a universal, or even transuniversal, collective subconscious. Objects—people—in this vast, indeed, infinite realm are not subject to the same laws as normal, physical space. The "Universe of the Mind," she'd called it. Dreamspace. Many otherwise purely psychological problems could be dealt with there, as if they were of a more physical nature. Thus, something might be targeted, destroyed, in that universe, and the psychological effect of it nullified here. Or, to use another approach, the person thus afflicted might hunt down the psychological avatar of something one was afraid of, kill or defeat it in battle, or in some way come to terms with it, and awake to find oneself no longer afraid.

Following that same logic (and Bertran cautioned him that this was hardly an apt, one-to-one analogy, as dreamspace was still largely an unknown), then if Miss Martian could deal with _him_ there, or at least overcome the horror she felt when she saw him, while in that universe, she'd no longer feel the horror she now felt at his appearance in this one. She'd be free of the horror meme completely. Free and clear, forever.

Rose had exploded. "You numbskull! Do you _really not see?_ What if she has to _kill_ you?!"

"If so, then so. But I'm remarkably hard to kill, Rose. If anybody could survive such, it's me. Doomsday genes, remember? I won't _stay_ dead. And she doesn't have to _kill_ me, just _defeat_ me. Which should be easy enough since I won't fight back."

Rose had just rolled her eyes, face-palmed, "eye yi yi"d, and stalked away, muttering something about "peabrains" and "vacuum heads," and "kids," and "hormone levels," which Ragnar was fairly sure meant him. Usually anything uncomplimentary did.

Well, he'd best be getting up. Lying here, motionless, wasn't getting anything done….

Wait. Now, as he was becoming more and more alert, he sensed, heard, and felt the slight signals that told him he was not alone.

He was facing away from the nightstand, towards the "window" (actually a live feed from outside, like all the "windows" here in the complex). Every so cautiously, he felt back behind him…

There was a head of snow-white hair on the pillow next to his, with a bare shoulder and arm below it. He groaned inwardly. _Not again!_ This was what? The fourth time in two weeks now?

Gingerly, he turned over. A still-sleeping Rose Wilson lay on the other side of the bed, turned away from him, her bare shoulders protruding from underneath the sheet. He could tell she was nude beneath the sheets, her white bathrobe thrown over the foot of the bed. She was clutching something, a small holographic projector. She was in deep sleep, snoring, ever so slightly. That had been what had alerted him to her presence.

"Rose?" He whispered. She'd done it again, of course. It seemed like whenever she felt like it, she simply broke into his quarters and began annoying him in some way, perhaps with some project they were working on, or, most frequently, just to check up on him physically, to see if he was changing, physiologically. Most of the team had been alerted that, since Ragnar shared a common genetic heritage with Doomsday, that there was the possibility that he might transform into a being much like the monster than had killed Superman. And while that certainly was a legitimate concern, they didn't seem to obsess over it. Rose now… On one rare occasion, she'd grudgingly admitted that she was "bored." Privately, he thought she was lonely, but knew she'd rather die under torture than admit _that._ But he couldn't figure out why she'd picked _him_ for her amusement, her one-person reality TV show.

Why him?!

And now this. On more than one occasion, he'd waked to find her alongside of him, in his bed, fast asleep. Evidently, she'd just let herself in, the way she usually did, and, finding him already in bed and asleep, joined him in that condition rather than wake him up. He guessed he should be grateful she didn't just wake him up anyway. It showed some consideration….he supposed.

"Rose? _Rose!"_ She stirred slightly, moaning in her sleep.

At that moment, the clock radio Megan had given him went off, the morning news report from the local radio station filling the air. Without waking up, Rose raised a fist and hammered down on the clock, smashing it into a thousand and one pieces with a single blow.

" _Aaaah!"_ Ragnar's hands went to his mouth. Megan had given him that clock! _"Rose!"_ Still she slept on.

He bent over to her, taking her by the shoulder, careful not to dislodge the sheet. Rose Wilson normally slept _au naturel_ , and he had less than zero desire to see her naked.

Suddenly, she woke up, slamming an elbow into his forehead, causing his eyes to momentarily cross. Another blow hit a pressure point on his temple; any lesser being would've been stunned outright. "Hey! Stop that!" he shouted. Strong as he was, the blows hardly registered on him, but they would have seriously injured any human-level opponent.

"Stop it? Whaddaya mean, waking me up like that! Don't you have any manners? Oh, wait…forgot who I was talking to. Yeah. So what're you…" she paused, propping herself up on her elbows and yawning. The covers came perilously close to sliding down and revealing her breasts. He looked away, hurriedly. "…is it morning already?"

"Yes! And I'm in _mourning_ because you just  destroyed that clock radio Megan gave me! Look at it! Rose!" He looked in horror at the shattered remains of his clock radio, a gift from the girl he loved.

"Eh, quit 'cher whinin'. I'll replace it. Look. Reason I'm here," she threw back the sheets, and stood up, naked, completely unselfconsciously, and grabbed her robe, while he looked away again. "Come with me. I've got something to show you."

"You've already showed me far more than I wanted to see."

"Shuddup. This is important."

She led him into the apartment's kitchenette. Proceeded to sit at the table, all the while fiddling with the projector she'd brought. "What's for breakfast?" At his blank look: "Oh, don't tell me you don't eat breakfast! _Every_ body eats breakfast! Are you _that_ far out of synch? Oh, for the love of God. Here, lemme at it." She began bustling about the small kitchenette, collecting what she'd need. While she cooked, she continued talking. "Bertran called me last night. She got this idea for something that might help us the next trip into the collective subconscious. It's there on that projector. Give me a minute here to get things started and I'll show you how to turn it on."

"I already know."

"Oh, that's right… nothing wrong with your brain…well, there's lots wrong with your brain, but that isn't one of them. Well, anyway, the diagram on there is for what you could call a dreamscape guided missile. She calls it a harpoon. All we have to do…" Here she brought the scrambled eggs and sausage over; the biscuits were going to take a few minutes.

Ragnar looked over the plans, intrigued in spite of himself. Just as things were not exactly physical in the "dream" universe, so, too, was the missile. Its energy waveform resembled a missile, of course, and it would no doubt appear as that in the collective subconscious. Its appearance in the mundane world…was anybody's guess.

She came over and sat across the table from him, bringing the biscuits with her, her long, white hair draped over her shoulders. He had to admit it: Rose Wilson was a good cook. They left the holographic schematics on, hanging in midair between them. "Way I see it," said Rose, "Biggest problem will be delivery. This thing's good sized. I mean, we can't just lug something like that around everywhere we go, no matter how strong you are or any sort of weightless conditions. It's just too _cumbersome._ "

"Perhaps I could shrink it, somehow?"

"Ask Bertran. I don't see why not. As long as you maintain the same molecular configuration…I guess it could be any size. But check first. And," she said, around a mouthful of scrambled eggs, "I don't know what the payload is. The warhead, I mean. It might be something you can't shrink. But she seems to think it'll work. At least do some serious damage, if we can just get the damned thing in our sights."

"When's our next insertion going to be?"

"Today at ten. Be ready. And here. Wash these dishes up. Don't be such a slob." She got up, leaving the projector for him to study.

Out in the corridor, Wonder Girl was just finishing up her morning workout and was headed down the hall for the showers when the heard a door slide open in the corridor she'd just turned away from. Curious, she glanced back….it looked like the hem of someone's white bathrobe just disappearing around the far corridor intersection. Whose bathrobe? And the only person down that hallway who hadn't already joined the rest was Ragnar Rok, the Gold Lantern.

When people live together in an enclosed environment, they develop an almost sixth sense about things. Right now, Cassie's sixth sense was telling her that a woman had just come out of Ragnar's room. But that was crazy. The entire team knew how he loved Miss Martian, and was waiting for her to return. Anybody else, well, she could see somebody like Red Arrow or Nightwing sneaking a girl in (except for the fact that the team's base was supposed to be located in a super-secret complex underneath a mountain)…but not faithful Ragnar.

Maybe she was just imagining things. Still, she found herself at Ragnar's door, signaling for entrance. "Yes?"

"Oh, uh, hi, Ray. Every, everything okay in here?" She stood up on tiptoe to glance over his shoulders, looking about his quarters, as he put away the dishes from breakfast. There seemed to be a lot of them for just one person.

He shrugged. "Sure. Just about to go get cleaned up. I don't have all that long until I have to meet Rose at the transit point." They'd installed a transition unit there in the base of Mt. Justice, so that it wasn't necessary for him to actually go to Bertran's base in Antarctica. That was especially good for him, because this way, he was less reminded of the proximity to the one he loved but could not see.

Cassie could see that this was wearing on him. "Ray, I know…well, I take it back. I don't _personally_ know what you're going through, but, but…it won't last. There's a way around this thing, and we'll find it. Bertran appears to be every bit the genius Bertron was, maybe more so, and I'm confident she'll crack this thing sooner or later."

"Thank you, Cassandra. It's the 'later' part that has me worried." Bertran had expressed concern that, the longer the meme remained within Megan Morse, the deeper its roots, and the harder it would be to dislodge.

He continued to put away the dishes. "Boy," she said, still standing there in her gym suit, towel over her neck. She knew she needed a shower, wash this sweat off. "You've got one healthy appetite."

He continued to load the dishwasher. "Rose ate some."

Cassie's ears literally pricked up. "Rose? She…she was here?"

"Yes. She came by to bring this." He showed her the holograph projector. "Bertran's latest device. The Harpoon. If we can get the meme in sight, we target it with this," he showed her, "and kaboom. At least we hope kaboom."

"Oh! She was…just now here…to bring that?"

"Well, yes. Why? Evidently Bertran called her last night, and she didn't want to wake me up. Though gods alone know why; she doesn't seem to mind bothering me about anything else."

Cassie laughed. So that was all. Rose had just dropped by to deliver the projector, and chowed down while here. So. No big. She was the "girl" Cassie had sensed leaving Ragnar's room a few minutes ago. That was okay, then. The entire team knew how those two fussed and fought over practically everything. So. There…couldn't be anything there. No, couldn't possibly be. Of course not. "Well, I'm for the showers. See you at morning report?"

"Yes." As usual, he didn't smile. Cassie's own smile fluttered on her lips. Poor guy. He'd never smiled much in the first place, and goddesses knew he didn't have much reason to smile these days. How would she feel if it were her?

Torn apart, more than likely.

….

"Ow." Hal Jordan muttered as he held a piece of meat up to his black eye.

"What happened to you?" John Stewart joined him, a cinnamon roll and coffee on his tray. The two were alone in the commissary, which was just how Jordan wanted it. "Goldface?"

"Arisia."

A bite of roll. "Arisia did that?" Stewart was impressed. Arisia wasn't that large or formidable looking. He reminded himself to never underestimate her. Apparently, she packed quite a punch for such a small person. "Why?"

"I, er, sorta laughed at her."

"You laughed at Arisia? Hal, I'm surprised there's anything left of you."

"I won't show you the _other_ place she hit me."

"Oh. Well, anyway. What'd you go an' engage in life-threatening behavior like that for?"

"I can't tell you. But, uh, not to go into any detail, let's just say, she was inquiring about how Earthmen view…relationships. _Certain aspects_ of relationships, to be more precise. I'm afraid that, when I learned what she was really asking about, I, er, kinda…" And he gestured towards the eye, now covered with the meat.

"I see." More cinnamon roll disappeared down Stewart's throat, as did another sip of coffee. "Aaaaand, does this, like, have anything to do with her, uh, current hobby?" John Stewart was aware of Arisia's determination to see the couple to the altar, and beyond, for all anyone knew. He wondered if she'd bought them a bassinet yet.

"No comment. Now, you realize I can't say anything beyond that, or I'd _really_ be in hot water. Plus, word could easily get around, and…that just wouldn't be good. For anybody."

John Stewart considered. He had a pretty analytical mind, himself. "Well, Arisia hasn't been on Earth, so it's nothing to do with our Gold Lantern. She's mostly concentrated on Mars, on seeing to Megan. That was a cloistered environment; my sister's cousin was in one not long ago, a drug rehab. They have a bunch of rules, but one of the ones they adhere to the strongest is _Holy shit!_ " A look of shock spread across his face, even as Jordan sputtered and sprayed his coffee out into a fine mist. " _That's it! Of course!_ But that can't be it! But it was, wasn't it? That was it, wasn't it? _Megan?_ Not _Megan!_ Not _our_ Megan! You _can't_ be ser-*"

Desperately, Jordan slammed his palm against Stewart's face. "For _God's_ sake, _shuddup!"_ He hastily looked around; they were still alone. "We _can't_ let that get around! You can't even guess what it'd do to Megan! And, and…" He became aware that the hand he'd slapped over Stewart's mouth was the same one he was holding the meat with. "Oh, sorry."

"'S'awright. Just for future reference, however, I usually like my steak a little more done than that. But, but you're right, we can't let this get out. So…well, I mean, this is…not particularly good, but, but, you know, it's hardly an asteroid strike. I'm sure they'll work it out, right?"

"Yeah? Think about it. Ragnar. Doomsday genes. The _madder_ he gets…"

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah."

…..

"….don't understand why I can't see her, Rose! All I'm getting is what you here on Earth call the 'runaround.' Everybody's saying a whole lot of nothing." He paced back and forth. "I'm not asking for _her_ to see _me._ I know, if she's no better than before, that would only hurt her. But why can't I just see a televised picture? For Pete's sake!" He stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Who's 'Pete,' anyway?"

"Hm. I haven't had a lot of luck myself, I have to admit. And that's suspicious in itself. When we get back, we'll compare notes. Something's gonna stick out."

Morning report was over with, and the two were standing in the middle of the transit pad. An overhead light shone down on them.

The circular room was enclosed all around by various force fields, even though the effect was contained within a small area. Nightwing and Aqualad were in the control booth. _"You two ready, out there?"_

"Hang on." Rose unfolded the clear plastic helmet that connected with the life support system attached to her suit. After all, although they'd so far not encountered any area of dreamspace that didn't have an atmosphere, there was always a first time. Plus, this was evidently a _universal_ collective subconscious. It could easily be some areas wouldn't be survivable by unprotected humans. "Alright." She gave them a "thumbs up," as did Ragnar.

A flip of a switch, and both they and the two in the booth were aware of an ascending whine as a curious cyclone of light descended upon the target area. It surrounded the pair on the launch pad, obscuring them from view. When it lifted, they were nowhere to be seen.

 _To be continued…._


	26. Ch 26:I Wish I Could Live in Your World

Young Justice: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 26: I Wish I Could Live in Your World

…..

 _I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps._

… _._

Chapter 26: I Wish I Could Live in Your World

…..

Susan Anderson's integration back into society took place slowly, with her family's full support. They didn't coddle her, though, of course, they did see to her physical needs, which, at first, were considerable; but nobody tried to conceal from her the reality of what had happened. Several of the boys had been caught, and prosecution was pending.

Susan herself took her time recuperating. There was no need to hurry, and she was intelligent enough to know that it was a good thing she didn't remember the attack itself, even if she did remember the dream (which was bad enough by itself). But even then, she couldn't fully shake the feeling of _horror_ whenever she thought about what she must have gone through. It was like a black, bubbling cyst in the pit of her stomach.

She could tell herself the dream wasn't real, that it was just a dream, a fevered imagining of her own mind, but the attack had really happened. In real life.

And sometimes…sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could see _him_ , her perfect knight in shining armor, his golden uniform, flying through space…

Of course, the psychologists were right: she must've waked up just a little, not all the way, but just enough to catch a glimpse of the _Gold Lantern_ comic book her brother, an avid collector, had been reading, there in the room. That was the theory behind sleep apnea, sleep paralysis, and several related sleep disorders, anyway, and there was no reason to assume a similar principle was impossible here. And then, once she had partially waked up, her mind had concocted a fantasy about a hero who'd come to rescue her from the demons of her own mind. Of course that made sense. That was the _only_ way it made sense.

Had to be. She didn't like comic books, had never read one in her life.

But then, several weeks after her full physical rehabilitation….there was that time when she happened to go to the mall with some friends. They'd all gotten separated, with their usual plan of meeting back at the food court, and she'd found herself in front of a comic store. Normally, she would sniff disdainfully; obviously, this sort of thing was for those whose reading skills must be limited in some way.

But her brother liked them. Well, it took all kinds.

Just out of sheer curiosity, however, no other reason, of course, she found herself wandering into the comic store and perusing the colorful shelves. Yes, the overly muscled men and overly endowed women, all the highly implausible adventures…

Hm. _Gold Lantern._ Well, now that was…interesting. Yes. "Interesting" was a good word for it.

Somehow it happened to find its way into her hand. Well, it wouldn't hurt to look inside, would it?

"Hey!" shouted the proprietor, "You read, you buy, girlie!"

She turned, almost casually, to the man. "Excuse me? 'Girlie'? I'm not a 'girlie,' I'm a _customer._ Is this the way you treat all your customers? If so, it's no wonder I see no one else in here." The man spluttered a bit, but didn't seem to have an especially witty comeback to that. "As I see no one else behind the counter, I presume you to be the manager. Very well; otherwise I'd have to have a word with him about rude employees. But I can obey rules, just like anyone else. I have even been known to behave in a civilized manner, unlike some." She continued, producing her card. "Here. And I want a storage bag to put it in."

And it was really very strange. Somehow the comic book made its way back to her room, undetected by her friends or family. She wasn't too sure just how that happened. It just seemed to find itself a hiding place in a box on her closet shelf, underneath some other boxes. Safe and secure.

The fact that she was fully recovered physically didn't mean her traumatic event hadn't left its scars. Not long after the comic book purchase, she and her best friend Rhonda were again at the mall, but this time both firmly situated at the food court. The schezuan chicken from the little Chinese place was to die for, and Rhonda was addicted to the cheese stuffed-crust pizza. Susan wanted to go browse the comic book store again, resisting not only because she didn't want to talk to that barbarian of a proprietor again, but also because she didn't want Rhonda knowing her guilty little secret.

Of course, Rhonda knew about the attack. All her friends did, and all had expressed outrage over the incident, all the more so because they knew it could have happened to any one of them. "I know it had to have been horrible for you, Suze."

"Well, as I've told you, I don't remember anything about the attack itself. Nothing. What I do remember was walking to get a cab. Then…then that nightmare," she stopped and shivered, even in the warmth of the day, "That horrible, horrible dream I told you about. Devils and everything. _That_ part's crystal clear. That's really all I remember until I woke up in the hospital, feeling like I'd fallen into a cement mixer."

"Well, yeah, but…" Rhonda hesitated. "I mean, I know you don't remember, but, but….I can't help wondering, what it must've been like. You know, what it was _really_ like." There was something odd about the way she looked at her friend when she said that.

Susan felt the black something inside her gut turn into a white-hot continuous explosion and begin to seethe somewhere deep within her. "Oh, I get it. You're wondering about how it felt to _have sex_? That the part you're wondering about?" Rhonda drew back before her friend's fury. "First off, I _did not_ have sex! I was _attacked,_ for God's sake! If someone held you down and hit you with a baseball bat, would that _make you want to get hit with a baseball bat?_ " She was shouting the last words; several heads turned. Sensing this through her rage, she grabbed her bags and stormed off, barely aware of Rhonda's calling after her.

"C'mon, Suze, I didn't mean it that way! Hey, hold up!..."

But Susan wasn't in any mood to hold up. She ran all the way home, slamming open the door and slamming it shut, ignoring her mother's first indignant, then concerned comments and questions, and stormed up to her room, closing and locking the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes, and flung herself down on her bed, ignoring her cell ringing Rhonda's distinctive ringtone. She finally just turned it off completely. "Susan?" Her mother's voice came from the other side of the door. "Susan? What's wrong?"

She didn't open the door. Susan's parents believed that their children should be allowed their own privacy. Within certain limits, of course. "It's…nothing, Mom. I just had a fight with Rhonda. She'll probably be calling you or even coming by. I don't wanna see her right now."

"Oh. Well…are you alright?"

"Yeah, Mom. Just mad as heck."

She could hear her mother chuckle on the other side of the door. "You can say 'hell,' if you want to, you know. We're the only ones in the house right now." Susan's father had a thing about his children using certain words.

"Well, okay, then. I'm mad as hell right now."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now, Mom. Just…not right now."

"Okay. Just so's you know…I'm here. 'Kay?"

"Okay." She could hear her mother's presence receding back down the hallway.

Presently, she judged it was safe. She retrieved the comic book from her closet, still in its protective sleeve. She took it out of the plastic with the sort of care normally reserved for the works of Da Vinci or Michelangelo. Carefully, she turned the pages.

Gold Lantern. Well, of course it was a comic book, a book for children, whose reading skills weren't maybe the best in the world. And for those adults who couldn't wrap their minds around more mature subjects, or needed the graphic images to stir their imaginations. Magic power rings? C'mon, _really!_

But…

Still, this was interesting.

She read about the recently-created Gold Lantern Corps, and saw the echoes of their creation, in the Great Sundering; saw and understood what the golden light was for, its origin, and what emotion (sort of) it represented…yeah, it was a comic book, but, but…this wasn't exactly a kids' concept. Or not just for kids.

Her eyes misted over as she read about her hero. "I know _you'd_ understand. I just know you would."

 _I wish I could live in your world._

Then she very carefully put the comic book back in its back and re-hid it there in her room.

…

Then something occurred to her…. She turned her attention to her computer. Maybe…maybe there was more information to be had there.

Wikipedia: Gold Lantern. Real name: Ragnar "Ray" Rok. Current alias: Ragin Ramanujin, Indian exchange student. Planet of origin: Unknown, thought to be ancient Maltus. Grew up on an unnamed world somewhere in the Orion spur. Affiliations: Gold Lantern Corps, Doomsday 2, Bertran, Green Lantern Corps, Justice League International, Rose Wilson (who?). Formerly affiliated with the Sinestro Corps, and with an unnamed group of covert operatives on "Earth—16," whatever that was supposed to mean.

This was even more interesting.

She read about the coming of the being known as Inferno, and his destruction of Mars, of Ray's nearly losing his own life trying to save the pitifully few survivors of what had already been a pitifully few—beings who had already hurt him so very much. She read about the rise of their frenemies, the Silver Lanterns, and their perfectly reasonable but totally opposite cosmic agenda.

She sat back, smiling ruefully. _I wish I could be in his universe._

" _Be careful what you wish for, Susan Anderson."_ Was that a voice? Quickly, she whirled around, hoping to God her brother hadn't sneaked in and spied her on her computer, looking up subjects she'd sneered at so recently. But he wasn't all that prone to doing that, anyway, and, anyhow, it hadn't sounded like his voice.

It had sounded like a child's voice. But there was no child in the room.

…..

Days passed uneventfully. Susan began receiving a 9 by 12 inch opaque tan envelope from a major magazine distributor, which she was always careful to immediately take to her room and secrete somewhere. One day, Rhonda (with whom she'd made up) chanced to be there when the mail was delivered, and noted how quickly her friend took the envelope up to her room. Almost as though she had something to feel guilty about.

?

She followed her upstairs, to her room. "Suze?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, Rhonda, I was just coming back down." She hastily stuffed the envelope into a box and shoved the box back up on the shelf in her closet.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That envelope you just got. You acted like you didn't want anybody to see you getting it."

Rhonda noticed her friend getting extremely nervous. "I-it's nothing. Just, just a magazine I have a subscription to. I'll, I'll read it later…."

"What's the name of it?"

"It's not important…" Rhonda noticed Susan's face getting very red.

"SUE-zan! You went and subscribed to _Teen Beat,_ didn't you? And you don't want your father finding out…that's it, isn't it? He wouldn't let you have those magazines…c'mon, that's it, isn't it?"

" _No!_ No, it's nothing like that…"

"It's nothing dirty, is it?"

"Of course not! RhonDA!" Susan stood there, in the middle of her room, hands on her hips. "What kind of a girl do you think I am, anyway?"

"I dunno. How many kinds are there? Okay! Okay, Suze, it was just a joke! Ramp it down, already! But what kinda magazine would you wanna hide from everybody?"

Susan dithered. She really didn't want anybody knowing her guilty little secret, but she'd known Rhonda since sixth grade. "Okay, I'll tell you. But only under one condition: that you swear you'll never, ever tell anyone, and I mean _any_ one, _especially_ my big-mouthed brother, about it."

"Alright, I promise. Now, what is it?" The two were alone in Susan's room.

Susan made sure her door was firmly locked, and then retrieved the envelope from where she'd stashed it, opening it up, and drawing forth the contents. "Suze! A _comic book?_ I thought you said those were for kids!"

"Sh! Keep it down! He's got _really good_ hearing. Yeah, I know what I _said,_ but…you remember, back when I…was in the hospital?"

"Yeah…"

"I told you about my dream, didn't I?"

"Just how horrible it was, and that you dreamed somebody saved you."

"Yeah, well, I don't understand it, but…this is who I dreamed about." She pointed to the figure on the cover of the magazine. "Him. The Gold Lantern."

Rhonda picked up the comic book, turning the pages. "Huh. So you dreamed about a character from one of your brother's comic books coming to save you?"

"That's just it. I'd never heard of him before. And you know I never read comics before. The doctors say I must've regained just barely enough consciousness to see the comic, like, maybe on the couch or something, and my unconscious mind filled in the rest. Except…except I…I don't know if that's what happened or not. How could I see something on the couch, with me lying flat in a bed, my face half covered in a bandage?"

Rhonda looked up at her. She was kneeling on the floor, still flipping through the comic. "So…what're you saying? That this guy _really did_ come an' save you?"

"Is that any crazier than me seeing a comic book cover with my head all bandaged up? I never had X-ray vision _before._ And, and…Ever since I woke up, it's like I've _known_ about him. I mean, I know—don't ask me how I know, I just do—about how he sounds, how he walks, everything. It's like I _really_ _met_ him, Rhonda. I could recognize his voice over the telephone." She paused, running her fingers through her hair, sitting on the side of her bed. "That's what gets me. I mean, if it was a dream, it was one _really detailed_ dream. I _know_ how crazy that sounds. But I can't get him off my mind. Some parts of the dream are kinda vague, but the parts I remember are as sharp as razor blades. Don't dreams usually fade with time?" She turned to her friend. "That's why I want you to promise me you won't blab. They'd say I was losing my mind or something, an' put me on some kinda medication that I don't want or need. So promise!"

Rhonda shrugged. This was no big deal…was it? "Sure. My lips are sealed." She got up and sat by Susan, the comic book still in her hands. "So tell me about this guy."

Susan picked up the comic from Rhonda's hands. "Well, _in the comic book,_ he grows up, all alone on some alien planet. He somehow gets this, like, magic or something ring that can make his will reality. You know, I looked it up; there's actually some historical basis for that."

"There is?"

"Some legends say King Solomon had a magic ring that he could use to control demons, or _djinni_ , as they were called. The legends say he used them to build his Temple. But I mean, that was a legend, yeah, but it was from like _three thousand years ago._ So they probably got the idea for the power rings from that." She turned the page. "Anyway, he gets this ring, and ends up on Earth. And, from what I've seen so far…" And she proceeded to give Rhonda an abbreviated version of Ragnar's story. "Anyway, that's the story so far." She turned more pages.

"Who's that green girl?"

Susan sniffed. "That's his 'girlfriend.'" She rolled her eyes. "Or she was. Sorta."

Rhonda smirked. She so enjoyed rattling her friend's cage; she was so obvious about it. "'Sorta'? Sounds like you disapprove."

Another sniff. "She's a total ditz. He could do so much better. Besides. You don't know what she did to him, just a few issues ago."

"What'd she do?"

"I'll show you." Now that her "secret" was known, Susan was feeling an immense sense of relief. She no longer had to go it alone. "Rhonda? You don't think I'm crazy, do you? I mean…"

Rhonda put her arm around her friend. "No, Suze. You're not crazy. But you know what? Even, even if you're totally batshit crazy, _you're back with us._ I mean, I don't know what it was like for you, in that coma, but you don't know what it was like for _us_ , for you to be so….it tore me up, inside! I didn't know if you'd _ever_ wake up! None of us did! So you dream about Mr. Gold Lantern here. So what? I mean, you know he's not real, so what's the harm?" She thought. "And maybe, just maybe, in a way, he _did_ save you. I mean, there you were, locked in a coma. If you had a dream that brought you out of it, so much the better. And if that dream was about a guy, this guy, this comic book character, it doesn't change anything. He _did_ save you. The fact that he's only in your head…well, that's where he needed to be when you really needed him, anyway. Kinda like, I dunno, some kinda dream therapy or something.

"So tell me more about this comic, this guy. What did that green girl do to him, anyway, that's got you so PO'd at her?" Her grin grew broader. "Besides your being jealous, I mean."

Susan sputtered.


	27. Chapter 27: Brick Walls and Firewalls

Young Justice / Green Lantern Crossover

The Gold Corps: Chapter 27: Brick Walls and Firewalls

...

 _Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but other projects got in the way. Anyway, for those of you following, here goes. Please read and review!_

…..

 _Don't own, you know._

… _.._

Chapter 27: Brick Walls and Firewalls.

"Prince S'Torr? It's good of you to meet with us on such short notice." The unremarkable looking human in the three-piece business suit offered his hand, which S'torr declined, with as much courtesy as he could, under the circumstances. S'torr really didn't care for humans, even though this was not a feeling widely held by most Martians. S'torr didn't consider himself to be prejudiced, as such; that was a condition reserved for less highly evolved beings. He simply felt that Martians should refrain from fraternizing with inferior species. It was unseemly. And it sent all sorts of wrong messages to the lower classes, the menials.

"Yes, well, your message was most…urgent. Now that we are here, what can I, er, do for you?" The trio were meeting in S'torr's own private business chambers.

His guests—though he tended to think of the term in quotes—consisted of the nondescript, dark haired human in the business suit, and a human woman, in a black and red form-fitting business suit. She was blond, and had, by human standards, a superb face and figure. The legs that emerged from her knee-length business dress were exceptionally shapely and, like the woman herself, superlatively tanned and fit. Even though she was only human, she was worth a second glance. Both she and the man wore extremely dark shades, which S'torr found a tad overdone. They were indoors, and, in any case, the sunlight that fell on Mars, even out on the surface, was hardly anything to require protection from.

But they were only human, and, he supposed (with a carefully concealed expression of amusement), subject to Earthly fashions, one of which, he imagined, was that wearing dark shades made one look all the more mysterious. Well, let them go ahead and think that it had any effect on him.

"Yes," said the man. "Before we begin, I don't believe we've introduced ourselves. I am known as Cinder, and this is my associate, Ms. Ashe. We both work for the law firm of Cinder, Ashe, Burns, and Frye. Our employer," and he said this with a peculiar inflection that caught S'torr's ear, even against his will, "our employer has asked us to contact you on a matter of considerable importance to the Martians, and indeed, to a great deal more than just you." He opened his valise, produced some papers. "I believe you will find these self-explanatory." He handed the sheaf of papers to S'torr, who smiled inwardly at the backwards humans: no digital storage? Hmph. Well, what could you expect from such a backwards species….

But his inward smirk disappeared completely when he read the papers. "You cannot possibly be serious. This is a deed to, to the whole of Mars…to, to this…is _this_ your 'employer'? This _Inferno_? This is outright nonsense! Mars belongs, and has always belonged, to the Martian people!"

"I assure you, Prince, it is quite legit. You will note the signature at the bottom. A brief investigation of your own history files will show it to be a tenth-to-the-eleventh power ancestor of yours, in fact. Hence, our meeting with you.

"Our employer, Mr. Inferno, has been quite content with the patterns of life on Mars. What you have done, to yourselves, of course, is of your own doing, and nothing of his. However, he wished to acquaint you with the fact that the planet you inhabit does in fact belong to him, and is a resource of his, to be managed in a more efficient manner. Even though he is not required to do so by the terms of this deed, he is actually offering his support, which can be considerable; he is quite capable of bringing in personnel and supplies to see to it that the planet is once more brought to full operating capacity.

"But the actual ownership of this world is not in question."

S'torr could barely contain his rage. This, this _human_ had the nerve to actually suggest that his great-great-to some unguessable degree ancestor had _sold the entire planet Mars?_ That couldn't _get_ more absurd!

What kind of a fool did they take him for? This 'Inferno'…some _human_ claiming to _own his planet?_ It couldn't be more patently false; how could any human claim to have made such a compact so far in the past? Mars still had seas of water then!

"I don't know how you got past my secretaries, but, but….! Take this absurd piece of drivel and get out! I've no time for, what do you humans call it? 'April Fool's'?"

"I assure you, Prince, this is no joke. Our employer has noticed your efforts at rebuilding Martian society, and is quite generously offering his support. However, he does wish us to point out that, ultimately, ownership of this world is his; you are caretakers.

"And so far, you have done well. He admires efficiency. So, as a gesture of such admiration, he offers his own help. It would enable you to achieve a thriving space industry of your own, rather than having to make do with the few ships you currently have. Oh, yes. Our intelligence is quite thorough in this regards. Aside from a handful of ships, many of them pre-cataclysm, you could easily profit from a more active space industry, could you not?"

S'torr tore up the papers, the lying, thieving papers. "Get out! Get out of here, before I summon the guards!"

"Do I take it that you are refusing our employer's generous offer?"

S'torr ground his teeth together. "Yes, you _may take it that way._ Now, get out!"

The man turned to the woman. "Ms. Ashe?"

The one identified as "Ms. Ashe" spoke calmly, her face impassive. "I believe it safe to say that rational discourse is no longer possible."

In the outer chamber, on the way back to the spaceport, the one known as "Cinder" spoke to his comrade. "Well, I suppose that could have gone better."

"I doubt it," sighed the one known as "Ashe." "The Martians are a proud people. To suddenly learn they are only caretakers of what they have long considered their property… And, be it admitted, our contact was hardly suitable for truly civilized communication. At least not with," and here, she smiled, in a thoroughly unnerving way, "mere humans." There was a brief silence as the two walked onward. There was no ship waiting for them, but they hadn't arrived in one, and did not need one to depart, anyway, a fact that S'torr was completely unaware of. "So. Now what?"

Cinder straightened his shoulders, adjusting his collar. "Now…I imagine our employer will most probably foreclose."

…..

Dreamspace: Ragnar and Rose once again materialized within a starry void. And once again, weirdly enough, Rose found there was a breathable atmosphere around her. How could this be? It defied pretty much every law of physics they knew…but those laws only applied to the waking universe, the "real" universe, anyway. She hurriedly checked her pouch for the miniaturized "harpoon" of Bertran's design. It would only stay pocket-sized as long as Ragnar exerted his will upon it, so the last thing she needed was for him to get distracted and have the thing spring to full size, ripping out of her pocket, and knocking her higgledy-piggledy. She didn't want to give him that much entertainment.

But…truth? She really didn't believe he'd enjoy seeing her discomfort or embarrassment. So why did she keep telling herself things like that?

As before, they hung there, against the tapestry of the stars (or, at least, what everyone presumed to be stars) while Ragnar oriented them with his ring. The ring's long range sensors, they knew, were quite capable of reaching out many light-years. But what exactly was he looking for?

None of them had any idea what Miss Martian's dream self would look like. They'd presumed it would look a lot like her, but there were no guarantees. And if she did not, what _did_ she look like? How would they know? How would they find her?

But they could only do their best. Even Bertran could only supply them with so much information. The whole "dream space" concept was still too relatively new for there to be any concrete data.

"I'm getting a reading…" he pointed, "about two parsecs in _that_ direction."

"Think it's Megan?"

"This energy signature seems to bear a certain resemblance to those of her waking self. Of course, that's no guarantee."

Rose sighed. This was beginning to look more and more like a hopeless case. If it hadn't been for Ragnar, she'd have given up on the matter long ago. After all, they were being called upon to search a vast, possibly infinite space. And they didn't even know exactly what they were looking for. "Well, let's go, kid. See what there is to see." And he flew up alongside her, allowing her to hook a hand into his belt, and off they went.

Both of them completely unaware they were being watched the whole time.

…..

Mt. Justice: Cassie Sandsmark found Dick Grayson sitting on the couch in the main rec room, staring at a blank TV screen. His expression told her all she needed to know.

She came over and sat by him. "So. Any luck?" Not that she needed to ask.

"Only if you count bad luck. About Batman: nothing. Whoever engineered his disappearance—and I'm coming to believe that more and more—appears to have left no clue. And I do mean none.

"And by the way, that new Robin the Teen Titans have is an absolute asshole.

"About Brother Blood…I guess we may as well call him that, for now, at least. That restraining order has got us locked up so tightly, we can barely blink. I guess, from the judge's point of view, I can kinda see it: you attack someone, physically, I mean, bludgeon and blast your way into their home or property, well, then they certainly have grounds for legal action, at least. Blood's church could've actually brought charges, I guess, especially since we can't prove Blood was really up to something. From the outside, it looks like we really did just up and attack him.

"That they _didn't_ bring charges just adds to their credibility.

"About our Silver Lantern…she's too new on the scene, and, apparently, not a problem anyway. I've already tracked her down: Stacy McAllister, works in the mall. Now how she got the ring, I haven't a clue. But she might be a good addition to the Team, providing she's not one of the extreme ring-wielders." Referring to the fact that some of the emotions the emotional lights were associated with tended to override the users' higher cognitive abilities.

"And Bertran called me. Seems she got a disturbing call from the Martian High Council. I reviewed the call, and, yeah, it does seem as though there's maybe some kinda hidden agenda there, an agenda we might not like. But it, too, is too new; can't pin anything down.

"Our dark warrior: nothing. He seems to come and go like a wraith. I remember those pictographs Wally and I found in that Nazi warehouse, and yeah, it could be him. I guess, from what he said, there's no reason why it wouldn't be. But that's about the extent of the information we can scrape up on him, and it isn't much. But, once again, he doesn't seem to be a problem. Though he could so very easily become one." He leaned back against the back of the couch. Cassie sat next to him, lost in her own calculations. "Cassie…I don't understand how anyone could so completely obliterate all traces of themselves. I mean, yeah, it's Batman, an' all, but still. The guy's only mortal. Unless he _is_ a prisoner of Darkseid, in which case, all bets are off, I guess.

"And Blood…Cassie, our hands are tied. Right now, we're just waiting for him to make the next move. And I've a hunch it'll be a doozy." He closed his eyes, trying to banish the pain in his temples. He'd had a headache now for three days straight, and it was steadily getting worse. _Probably caffeine,_ he told himself. _Too Much Coffee Man, that's me._

"Dick…you've been at this too long. You need to take a break."

He shook his head without opening his eyes. "Can't, Cassie. I just _know_ there's something I'm overlooking, something obvious. And we have to know _something_ about _something_ before the shit hits the fan.

"Which it will. Count on it.

"And that thing with the Martians is worrying me too, more so than it has any right to. I mean, they've never seemed to care much about Megan before; why this attitude change all of a sudden? Call me paranoid-*"

"You're paranoid."

"*-yes, thank you—but I can't shake the _feeling,_ the hunch, that that could get…messy." He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, trying to banish his headache. And Cassandra Sandsmark made a decision with some far-ranging consequences.

She got up, pulling him up with her. "Dick, I need you to come with me."

"Huh? What for? What is it?" Had she some clue or clues she'd managed to uncover?

"Down here." And she led him down the hallway towards her room. So thoroughly lost in thought was he that it didn't even register just where they were heading until she drew him into her room. "Uh, Cassie? What-*"

"C'mon, Dick. I've got something I need you to help me with." And she crossed her arms, pulling her T-shirt up and off her, unlatching her bra with one swift motion.

He stared at her breasts, it just now starting to penetrate. Funny; the sight of a woman's breasts had never just _paralyzed_ him before now…. "Uh, Cassie? I, uh, really have to be getting to work…" Such _perfect_ breasts…

"You most certainly do," she replied, skinning out of her jeans, and turning her attention to removing his costume. She kicked her panties off from her feet, and drew him into her embrace. "So get busy, Mr. Richard Grayson. I get cranky when I'm kept waiting."

 _To be continued…_


End file.
